


Dark, Endless, and Impossible to Sleep Through

by itwilleatyourbabies



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies), Spider-Man - All Media Types
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Attempted Suicide, BAMF Tony Stark, Canon-Typical Violence, Everybody Gets Hugs, Fluff and Angst, Gun Violence, Helen Cho's a badass but we knew that, Hurt Peter Parker, Hurt/Comfort, Hydra Peter Parker, Hypothermia, Identity Reveal, Implied/Referenced Rape, Irondad, Kidnapping, Language, May Parker might finally be getting used to this whole spider-man thing, Medical Inaccuracies, Nightmares, Not Avengers: Infinity War Part 1 (Movie) Compliant, Other, PTSD, Past Sexual Abuse, Peter Parker Can't Thermoregulate, Peter Parker Needs a Hug, Peter Parker Whump, Peter Parker is Tony Stark's Biological Child, Peter Parker is a hero, Peter Parker thinks he can handle it himself, School Shootings, Self Harm, Some are MCU and some are comicverse but it's pretty obvious which is which, Spider-Man: Far From Home (Movie) Spoilers, Stabbing, Temporary Character Death, Tony Stark Needs a Hug, Tony Stark is a tired dad, Unrelated unless stated otherwise, Whumptober 2019, but only in chapter 24, first "I love yous", light gore, more tags to be added over the course of the month, no beta we die like cowards, not complaint with the mid credits scene tho, self hate, self-hate, somewhat graphic descriptions of self harm, tags will be mentioned on each chapter
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-01
Updated: 2019-11-01
Packaged: 2020-11-08 17:55:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 31
Words: 76,127
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20839631
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/itwilleatyourbabies/pseuds/itwilleatyourbabies
Summary: Whumptober 2019 is upon us, and there's nobody I want to whump more than Peter Parker!





	1. Day One- Shaky hands

**Author's Note:**

> Hello!  
I'll try and keep this short, but basically: welcome to Whumptober, I'm going to do everything in my power to actually complete this because I have a lot of exciting ideas. I don't edit my whumptober works, because I think it's really beneficial for me to put out content that I'm not super critical of.  
I'm super excited about this whumptober because I've loved Peter Parker basically all my life, and I'm using this month as a way to practice writing both him and Tony for another big project I've got coming up ( ;) ) as well as to finish the one I've already started.  
I hope you enjoy, and I'd love to hear your thought down below.  
come yell with me on tumblr @spiclergwen

The party is too fancy for Peter’s tastes if he’s being honest. The ceiling is sprinkled with ginormous, golden, chandeliers, and the marble floors are almost soundproof. Peter feels a tad bit out of place as he chats with Rhodey, watching as the waiters flitted around the edges of the party, carrying trays of champagne and hor d’ oeuvres through throngs of people.   
Peter’s suit is way too itchy, the navy blue material rubbing up against his neck, the lights are too bright as they beat-down on the too-hot room, but despite it all, the unnecessary glamor and the awkward small talk with Tony’s old college class, Peter is happy. After all, it’s not every day that one gets to attend Tony Stark’s wedding.

  
Despite the fact that he had been spending more and more time with Tony (even spending the majority of his weekends up at the compound) Peter never had expected to actually be invited to Tony’s wedding, let alone to be sat at the front table with the rest of the Avengers. The wedding itself had been so beautiful that May had cried (and Peter might’ve choked up a little himself, but he definitely wasn’t ever going to admit it).

  
Tony caught Peter’s eye from across the room and winked, as he gestured roughly towards Sam, who’s trying (and failing miserably) to flirt with one of the bartenders. Peter gives him a small smile and a chuckle before Tony is whisked away into yet another conversation with an old classmate/co-worker/employee. Rolling his eyes fondly, Peter turns back towards the table, laughing as he watches Bucky and Rhodey argue over who’s glass is whos.

  
“They’re all idiots, aren’t they?” Peter whipped around to face Natasha, an easy smile gracing his face as he did so. At first, Peter had been the most scared of Natasha, but the longer he stuck around, the more he learned about her (and her “mama bear tendancies” according to Mr. Stark). He would hesitate to call her his favorite (the last time he did, Mr. Stark had moped about it for three days, throwing in a dramatic “betrayed by my own intern!” everything Peter had even been within earshot). He shrugged at her, “absolutely, but are we really a whole lot better than them?” She chuckled as she lifted her crystal champagne glass to her lips.

  
“You might not be, I for one, definitely am.” Peter blushed just a little bit (after all, the was The Black Widow, she still made him a little bit nervous).

“Whatever,” he deadpanned as he stood up and re-buttoned his suit jacket, “I’m going to go grab another lemonade. Do you need anything?”

  
“Nope.” Natasha popped the “p” as Peter turned away and started heading to the bar. He walked up to Sam, smiling politely at the bartender. Sam playful swatted Peter on the arm as he made some comments about Peter “running his flow” and his chances to be with “the woman of his dreams.” but Peter didn’t hear a single one as the hairs on the back of his neck stood up. It was like an electric shock had traveled down in his spine as he glanced around. His mind was echoing to him:

  
_Not safe_

  
_Not safe_

  
_Not safe _

  
But a cursory look around the room only proved that Peter was in fact, perfectly safe. He saw the multiple security at each exit, and if he stretched his neck a little farther, he could see the metal detectors people had been forced to walk through in order to get to the reception-- Mr. Stark had promised Peter that his wedding would be the “safest place in New York” and Peter trusted him.

  
Besides, whispered the rational part of his brain, almost every superhero in New York is here, there’s no way anybody in their right mind would want to go up against that. Peter nodded along to the rational voice in his head, determined to ignore the constant thrum in his back that was whispering to him. There was no way that Peter was anything but safe.

  
And then he saw **him**, out of the corner of his eye he watched as the icy blond hair moves out of his peripheral vision. _Calm down Peter_, his mind whispered, t_here’s plenty of people with blond hair, it’s just a guy._ But despite the rational part of his mind telling him that it was fine, he found himself turning around to watch the waiter anyways. He could only see him from the back, but his eyes followed him carefully as the waiter hoisted the tray high, almost above his head, as he walked from table to table.

  
Peter let out a deep sigh of relief as he turned back around, confident that the waiter he saw was actually, just a guy. He picked up his lemonade from the bar and leaned against it as he took his first sip. His eyes found the mystery waiter again, and he could hear his aunt and uncle’s voices in his head as they reprimanded him, “Peter-- don’t stare at people. It’s rude.” The waiter walked over to the next table and set his tray down as he adjusted his bowtie. As he did so, he turned around, and Peter felt his blood turn to ice.

  
The rational part of his mind already had a retort ready to go, but his spine was thumming with the familiar pulse of danger. His hands seemed to realize who it was and they were shaking as his brain attempted to put the messages together, creating a dreadfully fast and confusing tempo.

  
_It’s him_

  
_Not safe_

  
_It’s him_

  
_Not safe_

  
_It’s him _

  
_It’s him_

  
_It’s him _

  
Peter sat his drink down at the bar, a bit harder than he initially meant to as Sam’s head snapped towards him.

  
“Peter,” he asked, “you okay?” Peter nodded numbly as he watched the waiter approach the bar, he was completely unable to move as he made his way behind the bar, grabbing another bottle of champagne. **He** looked up and his eyes met Peter’s. And his eyes were _blueblueblue_ and _coldcoldcold_ and _scaryscaryscary_, just like they had been when he was a kid. At first, it was clear to Peter that** he** didn’t recognize him. His eyes racked over Peter’s body as though he was trying to put together a complicated puzzle, Peter tried not to look at him but was failing miserably as he felt his gaze, hot and heavy and hungry like it had always been.

  
As Peter glanced up again, he watched as the realization dawned in his eyes, a sort of primal desire was visible as **he** stared Peter down. He hadn’t spoken to him. He hadn’t walked towards him, but the whole thing felt obscene, his gaze made feel Peter feel dizzy, used as he turned away from the waiter, but even though he wasn’t facing him, he could make out clear as day the “hey Einstein, long time no see.” that escaped into the choked air between them.

  
He abandoned his lemonade on the bar and made a beeline to his bedroom, shaking hands curling in on themselves in a desperate attempt to ground him in the present.

  
Peter dashed up the stairs of the hotel, dodging security and somebody else who was calling his name (Happy?) until he made it to his room. He shut the door as gently as he could as he lowered himself to the floor, his mind was moving a thousand miles a minute, and despite the feeling of his nails sinking into his palm, he couldn’t tell where he was.

  
“Come on, Einstein, it’ll be fun.” He was shaking his head, _nonononono._ He felt phantom hands on his wrists, clasping them high above his head.

  
The voice was echoing “we’re friends.”

  
The hands were on his face, caressing his cheeks with a faux gentleness.

  
There were hands at his sides and on his thighs and voice was stopping.

  
And then suddenly the phantom hands were inside of him and he was struggling against an unknown force. The voice was whispering above him “so good,” as real Peter, the Peter who was actually there dug his nails deeper and deeper into his palms until the blunt edge of his fingertips broke the skin.

  
There was blood dripping onto his thigh from his hands, but all Peter stared down at himself, all he could see was the blood between his legs, the gentle _dripdripdrip_, as he curled in on himself. The voice in his head whispered, “don’t tell, okay?”

  
He had no idea how long he sat collapsed against his door, blood dripping down his palms and into his suit jacket before he heard the knock at the door.

  
His senses were dialed up to eleven, everything was too loud all of the time, but somehow the knock on his door was quieter than Peter could’ve ever imagined.

  
“Peter?” the voice was gentle, kind, Peter knew he recognized it, “I’m going to come in there okay?” Peter was grateful that this voice didn’t wait for Peter to respond before pushing the door open because Peter didn’t know if he could trust himself to speak. But in Peter’s absence of words, the voice kept talking.

  
“Happy said that you ran up the stairs and wouldn’t respond to your na--” The voice cut off abruptly as Tony stared down at Peter, “oh kid, what happened?”

  
Peter felt the man (_Tony, this is Tony,_ his mind supplied.) sink to the ground next time and wrap his hands gently around Peter’s wrist. Peter tugged lightly and made a light sound of protest, but he was too tired to make a real effort to pull away.

  
Tony’s mind didn’t know how to comprehend what he was seeing as he sat down next to Peter. He was sweaty like he had just run a marathon, his brown curls sticking to his forehead. His suit was crumpled along his wrists, and his shaking hands attempted to hold fistfuls of his own blood, which was trickling down his wrists.

  
As Tony’s hands grasped Peter’s wrists, he felt Peter lightly tug, but he ignored it in favor of pulling Peter’s hands to him, and opening up his fists gently, uncurling his fingers one by one as he inspected the damage. Peter’s palms were bleeding, little crescents pressed into him, blood and skin stuck under each of his fingernails. He looked up at Peter again, and noticed the tear tracks on his cheeks, slowly being washed away by the new wave of tears that were pooling around his hazel eyes.

  
Tony looked at Peter for a moment, taking in the sight of the kid who had been laughing with him about Sam’s attempt at flirting just half an hour before. He hoped that Peter would hop in, and just tell him what the fuck was going on, but as he listened to the kid's breaths (each one sounding like he was trying to inhale sheet metal) he realized that there was no way he would be that easy.

  
“Come on, Pete.” He tried to sound as gentle as possible, attempting to ignore the concern he could feel leaking into his tone, “how about we go sit on the bed, and maybe you can tell me what’s going on, yeah?” That seemed to get Peter’s attention, at Tony’s suggestion, Peter’s eyes grew wide as he looked up at Tony, a type of fear in his eyes that resembled a scared animal as he shook his head no.

  
“No.” Peter said, as forcefully as he could, “I’m fine Mr. Stark.” It was the longest steam of words Tony had heard the kid say, but given the situation he had walked into, they both knew that it wasn’t true. He raised one eyebrow and watched as Peter avoided his gaze.

  
“It’s okay Mr. Stark, really-- shouldn’t you get back to your wedding guests, anyways?” Now it was Tony’s turn to shake his head as he settled down on the floor across from Peter, making a conscious effort to keep his body language open.

  
“Honestly, kid people haven’t even noticed that I'm gone,” when that failed to get a response from Peter he added, “between you and me, I think people are only really here for the free food.” He didn’t get much of a response, but Peter’s lips did tick upwards ever so slightly, and so Tony counted it as a win.

  
The room was silent for a couple of minutes more and Tony kept his eyes thoughtfully trained on Peter, while the younger boy shifted back in forth in his seat.

  
“Really, I’ll be fine, it’s not important.” Tony sighed and moved a bit closer to the kid.

  
“I know you’ll be fine, Pete, but…” Tony heaved a deep breath before he continued, “there’s nothing and nobody here more important than you. And I’m saying that at _my_ wedding.”

  
Peter kept his eyes downcast, but Tony could watch the debate in his head. Finally, Peter shifted again, bring his legs into his chest, and wrapping his arms protectively around himself, he leaned his head against his knees, his face pointing away from Tony, but finally, he spoke:

  
“That waiter down there ya’ know the super blond one?” Tony nodded along, confused.

  
“Yeah, I saw him-- I think his name tag said “Westcott” or something?” And it was incredible, Tony could literally watch as Peter’s body tightened up even more than it already was. The kid took a couple of deep breaths before he continued.

  
“He used to be my babysitter when May and Ben were busy.” Once again, Tony nodded, confused, what kind of babysitter brought on this kind of reaction?

  
“And--” Pete stopped.

  
“And what, Pete?” Tony knew he was prodding, but he attempted to keep his voice gentle, at this rate-- he had to know, but his mind was already supplying plenty of its own ideas. 

  
“I can’t,” Peter said, Tony opened his mouth to protest, but before he could, “you wouldn’t be able to see me the same Mr. Stark.” Tony stared at the kid stunned.

  
“Peter, nothing you could say or do would ever change the way I think about you.” For a moment, nobody spoke. It seemed as though Peter hadn’t even heard what the said as he started out into the nothingness. Finally, he spoke, and nothing could’ve prepared Tony for what happened next. Peter had straightened out again, his arms wrapped around his torso in an attempt to comfort himself.

  
“He… he uh…” Tony wanted to reach out, but something told him that it wouldn’t help,

“he raped me.” The lancet of pain that followed swung through Tony’s chest so sharply that he brought a hand to his chest.

  
Tony had so many things he wanted to say, so many things he wanted to say: “It’s going to be okay.” “It’s not your fault” “I’ll literally go down there and kill him.” but none of those things came, instead he said:

  
“How old were you?” Peter faced him fully know, his eyes once again leaking fresh tears as he picked at the scabs that were already forming on his palms.

  
“Nine.” Tony felt his heart crack again, this time mixed with such a wave of red hot anger it took all his self-control to not storm downstairs and kill Westcott right then and there. Instead, he sent a message to Happy, and he kept it pretty simple.

  
“Find the waiter named “Westcott” and remove him. I'll explain later.” As Happy quickly texted back his affirmative, Tony turned back towards Peter. Their eyes met, and Peter found words stumbling out of his mouth faster than he could think about them.

  
“I told May and Ben after the third or fourth time, I think, and they called the police but S--kip, that’s his nickname, was young and smart and played football so it didn’t really matter.”   
Tony said nothing for a moment, allowing his anger to fester as he learned more details.

  
“I’m sorry, Peter.” and Tony was truly convinced that it was the most sincere apology oof his life. Peter shrugged, but he didn’t say anything. Tony made his next decision in a matter of seconds.

  
“Get ready for bed, Pete, I think we need a Star Wars marathon.” Peter glanced up at Tony as he began to stand, his negation already formed:

  
“Oh no really it’s fine, you have a party to get too.” Tony turned back to Peter, gave him the softest smile he could muster, “Nothing at that party is as fun as hanging out with you, kiddo. I’ll see you in a few.”

  
And with that, he left, leaving Peter standing in the middle of the room, a real, genuine smile, fighting through his frown.

  
Peter fell asleep not even twenty minutes into the first movie, and Tony leaned down to kiss his sleeping son’s forehead: “I’m not going anywhere, Pete,” he whispered, “I’ll stay with you forever if that’s what you need.”

  
And if Steven Westcott woke up in an alleyway in Oregon the next day, nobody needed to know. 


	2. Day Two- Explosion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter should really stop trying to take field trips to the MOMA.   
aka,   
Peter Parker has always been a hero

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello!   
Thank you for the comments, kudos, and bookmarks on the first part, I really appreciate it! I really like this chapter as well, although it's a lot different that part 1.  
Chapter specific tags and warnings: battle of New York, light gore/references to death, not Infinity War compliant, Tony Stark is a dad.   
I hope you enjoy, you can always catch me on Tumblr @spiclergwen

Peter was on a field trip-- and he was incredibly excited; after all, who isn’t excited for their first field trip? Peter was practically vibrating with excitement as Uncle Ben handed his signed permission slip over to his sixth-grade teacher, Mrs. Hill, who accepted it with a smile as she marked off Peter’s name on her clipboard. 

Peter felt this Aunt May pull him into a hug, he attempted to push her away as she placed a soft kiss on the top of his head. 

“Ew, May!” Peter protested and he wiggled himself out of her grasp and May gave an overdramatic sigh. 

“Have fun on your field trip, Peter-- and stay with your group.” His uncle warned, Peter, nodded his understanding, but otherwise didn’t acknowledge them as he all but skipped onto the bus. 

Peter quickly found Ned on the bus and slid in next to his friend, who quickly began to ramble about the last night’s episode of Lego Batman on DisneyXD. 

The drive to the MOMA felt ridiculously long to Peter, the New York City traffic not helping one bit. He managed to pass the time by playing Mario Kart with Ned, the two taking turns on Ned’s brand new DSi. 

Once they had arrived at the Museum, Mrs. Hill separated them into groups and placed them with their parent chaperone, Peter and Ned were lucky enough to be placed together with Michelle (their friend? Enemy? Ally against school bullies? Peter had no idea) and her dad, who had no problem letting Ned and Peter run off in front of the group, so long as they checked in with him every now and then. 

By the time lunch rolled around, Peter was starving, and absolutely dying to eat the pizza Lunchable Aunt May had bought for him (a special treat, since she wasn’t really the lunch packing type.) The class made their way outside so they could sit on the grass in front of the museum. 

Peter watched as Mrs. Hill chatted happily with some of the parent chaperones, he sipped on his juice box as she quickly and suddenly stood up, she distanced herself from the group and she pressed what looked like an old-school flip phone to her ear. 

By now, Peter had completely forgotten all about whatever Ned had been talking about as he watched his teacher’s expression switch from one of confusion to one of fear and then one of frustration. She hung up the phone and then walked as quickly as she could to the front of the lawn, motioning for the parents and students to follow after her.

Once the students had clustered around her, Mrs. Hill clapped her hands together, a look of faux sadness of confusion graced her features as she spoke to the class. 

“I know that you all are very excited to go see the rest of the museum later this afternoon,” she sighed at the wave of head nods that ran through the group, “But there’s been a mix-up, the museum had to close for the afternoon--” The sounds of protest drowned out her voice until she raised her hand to quiet them “I’m sorry kids, but we have to go back to the school.” 

Peter thought that it was a little weird, after all-- the museum still looked open, and even the parents looked confused as Mrs. Hill called the roll on the bus. Distantly, Peter wondered if the canceling of the field trip had anything to do with Mrs. Hill’s earlier phone call, but he thought it would be wise not to ask. 

The ride back was equally uneventful, even if Mrs. Hill did seem to spend the majority of the trip on the same flip phone that Peter had seen her using during lunch, she tapped her foot impatiently at every single red light, and her change in demeanor seemed to affect the whole bus. 

Suddenly, about twenty minutes away from their school, Mrs. Hill shot up from her seat and snapped the phone shut so hard that Peter could hear it. All eyes immediately focused on her, but she ignored each one of her students as she addressed the bus driver. 

“Sir,” she spoke slowly and quietly as though she was trying to stay calm, “I’m going to need you to pull this bus over.” 

The bus driver eyed her warily but kept driving none the less. 

“Sorry ma’am, no can do, I’m not allowed to stop the bus unless somebody in this here wakey-talkey tells me too.” he patted the device clipped to the pocket of his ratty jeans as he spoke. Mrs. Hill huffed, but for she could retort, something absolutely unforgettable happened.

The building to their left  _ exploded. _

It was a story Peter would tell anybody who would listen for two years straight. One minute, Peter had been watching his teacher argue with a bus driver, the next, he was crawling out of the emergency side exit of the bus. He crawled out of the bus and jumped down next to the rest of his classmates. The explosion had thrown them into the middle of traffic. Peter thought he had heard Mrs. Hill’s voice, but he couldn’t see her anywhere. 

Before Peter could voice his concerns about their teacher to Ned, another building exploded. Peter hit the ground and covered his head with his hands, the first time he attempted to look up, another explosion had echoed through the street, then another, and another. 

He glanced up and realized that the street he was standing on had been completely destroyed, and these weird-looking alien snake things were crashing through every single thing they could. 

It was horrifying, people were screaming and running in every single direction, some of them were limping, or covered in blood, or carrying people in the arms. Peter didn’t wait, overtaken by his own panic: he ran. His legs carried him down the street, towards where the majority of the people seemed to be headed. Along the way, he tripped on somebody’s arm. 

“Are they…  _ dead? _ ” His mind echoed to him. 

“Don’t even think about.” a voice in the back of his head supplied quickly. 

Peter kept running, but he wasn’t very fast, and he only made it about a block and half before he was wishing that he had grabbed his inhaler. Suddenly, he heard wailing coming from down the street. 

“My baby, my baby! Please, they're stuck in the car!” The voice sounded desperate and raw, and Peter found himself heading in the direction of the voice. The woman kept yelling, sobbing as she motioned to an overturned car, but people paid her no attention as they kept trying to find their own safety. 

Peter approached the women softly as he got closer to her, “Ma’am, where’s your baby?” He asked tentatively once he knew he was within earshot. 

The woman sobbed again and pointed at the car, “He’s in there. The car flipped and he got stuck, _ please, _ get him!” Peter nodded determinedly and looked into the car, where he could just see the back of a car seat, turned onto its side by the collision. 

Before he could think about it, Peter punched through the already broken window, ignoring the way the broken glass cut into his skin, creating rivers of red down his pale arms. He was grateful for his small size as he leaned into the car, shards of glass cut into his forehead and scalp, another piece stuck painfully in his chest as he grabbed the child out of the car. 

As carefully as he could, he lifted the small boy and pulled him through the broken window. He had never held a baby before, and he struggled a bit as he tried to regain his balance with the kid in his arms. 

The women grabbed her son the second Peter had him out of the car, she looked down at Peter and used her free hand to wipe the tears from her eyes.

“Thank you. Thank you. Thank you.” Peter waved her off. 

“It’s no problem, ma’am, anybody would have done it.” She gave Peter a soft smile as she glanced around at the panicking civilians who paid them no mind. 

“No, they wouldn’t of. Thank you, you saved his life.” Peter once again shrugged off the praise, before the roar of a monster cut him off. 

He turned around and saw one of the huge alien snake things, headed right towards him. His mind was telling him to _ run, run, run.  _ But his feet didn’t seem to get the same memo. 

The monster let out another horrifying screech and the women ran off with her son. Even though his mind was still trying to get him to ** go** , all he could manage to do was close his eyes. 

Suddenly, a blast came from behind him, and it shot the alien snake in the mouth, it didn’t do much damage, but it did cause the monster to slink away in the opposite direction. 

Simultaneously, a voice behind Peter remarked, “Alright, the party’s over.” Peter whipped around to the voice and was shocked when he found himself face to face with Tony flippin’ Stark. The Ironman faceplate covered him, but Peter still stared up in awe at his science crush. 

He gasped as Ironman touched onto the ground, he didn’t even realize that he was being approached until Ironman was bending down in front to of him, a heavy metal arm on his shoulder. The faceplate clicked up and Peter was staring into the face of Tony Stark. 

“You okay, kid?” And Peter, the star-struck eleven-year-old he was, stared up at his idol and answered with such an embarrassing response it still made him cringe. 

“I’ve never been better in my entire life, sir.” He spoke earnestly, suddenly incredibly aware that he was talking to The Tony Stark. The look Ironman gave him proved that he was no near as amused as Peter was. Before Peter could even speak, Ironman has slide the faceplate back into place and stood up, he grabbed Peter by the collar of his shirt and threw him onto his back. Peter wrapped his legs around Tony’s waist, and his arms around his neck as Ironman took off to the skies. 

For a minute, Peter was totally speechless-- he was getting a  _ piggy-back ride from Ironman--  _ but it didn’t take him long to find his voice again, a nervous habit he had developed since his parents died. 

“Honestly Mr. Stark, this is so cool. I mean it super sucks that the city is getting destroyed and everything, like, I thought that kind of stuff only happened in comic books, but it’s so awesome that you’re like fighting all these alien snake things, I mean, I wonder what they are? Hopefully, you’ll get to dissect one or something, that would be amazing!” Peter rambled for a few more minutes, but soon he felt Ironman touch back down onto the ground and shake Peter off. 

Peter slid to the ground and realized that he was back at Queen Elementry School. He looked confused up at Mr. Stark. He seemed to understand the kid’s question.

“It’s the safe zone for injured civilians, at least, I think that’s what Agent Hill said.” And with that, he turned around, and whisked himself back into the sky, but not before he heard Peter yell up behind him: 

“You’re my favorite superhero, Mr. Stark!” Tony didn’t dignify with a response, but he didn’t mutter to himself after muting his comms device. 

“Jarvis, save that audio file.” 

“Of course, sir.” 

It was five years later and Peter was experiencing some serious Deja Vous. He was really, and truly, not even planning to get involved with any crazy superhero stuff, but when he saw that flying donut while he was on his way to the MOMA, he knew he wouldn’t be able to just sit still and let it all happen. 

The time between the bus and the park passed in a blur, but he did subconsciously notice that the MOMA was right down the street from where the flying donut was, and to some degree, he appreciated the irony. 

He remembered rolling in front of Mr. Stark, determined to catch the car the was headed his direction. 

“Kid, what are you doing here?” Peter attempted to answer, but he was quickly grasped by whatever alien creature he was fighting, and he found himself being flung through the air before he could finish his sentence. 

If Peter was honest, it wasn’t his most graceful landing as he dropped like a sack of potatoes onto the concrete, but in his defense: it wasn’t like he had a whole lot of time to prepare. He felt his head smack against the side of the fountain, but the ignored it as he stumbled to his feet. 

Everything felt off, his vision was swimming and for a moment, it didn’t feel like he had complete control of his limbs. He swayed on the spot for a moment, trying to steady himself when Karen interrupted him. 

“Peter, it appears that you have a moderate concussion. May I suggest calling Mr. Stark for medical attention” 

_ Ah, so that’s why everything had felt weird.  _

“No Karen,” Peter sighed as he watched Mr. Stark battle with another alien, “I think he might be a little busy.” 

“As you wish. I will continue to monitor your condition, try to take it easy, Peter.” Even though he knew she couldn’t see him, Peter found himself rolling his eyes at his AI. 

“Okay Karen, sure.” 

“Thank you, Peter.” 

He didn’t dignify that with a response. 

The fight passed in a blur, more so than usual. It seemed like the aliens had no sign of stopping, right up until they followed some wizard (Dr. Strange, according to Mr. Stark) into a glowing orange portal. 

As the portal closed, Peter felt New York go silent, it was disorienting, and he felt himself needing to grasp onto a broken park bench in order to keep himself from falling over. 

His mind registered the sound of Tony in the background, his repulsors lowering the Ironman suit onto the ground, after a cursory glance around, Tony stepped out of the suit and hurried over to Peter. He peered down at him. 

“Mr. Stark?” Peter asked drowsily, staring up at his mentor, “Why are you so much taller?” Tony looked like he was about to chuckle, but his face quickly became one of concern. 

“Because I’m standing, Peter. Why are you sitting on the ground?” Peter pulled off his mask and stared up at his mentor. 

“When did I sit down?” He asked, carding one hand through his hair as his mentor shrugged. 

“No idea, but get up-- since the wizard decided to fuck off to Wakanda, we’re on clean up duty.” Peter only nodded blandly at that, and Tony stared at him in interest, slightly shocked by Peter’s lack of reaction. 

Quickly Peter swiped his mask off of the ground and attempted to stand up, but he stumbled twice before finding his balance.

Before Tony could say anything, Peter turned around to inspect the majority of the damage, and that’s when Tony noticed the tiny stream of blood that was falling from the top of Peter’s head, slowly trickling down his neck. 

“Okay, Pete-- change of plans, we’re gonna leave the clean up to SHIELD.” Peter simply nodded again. 

Tony sighed and turned to face Peter. He seemed to briefly consider his options for a second before turning around. 

“Alright kid, hop-on.” When Peter didn’t move, he added, “Not everybody gets piggy-back rides from Ironman ya’ know, you should be grateful.” That seemed to mobilize Peter as he climbed onto Tony’s back, wrapping his arms around his neck and his legs around his waist, he let his head rest lightly on his shoulder. 

The ride to wherever Tony was taking him was about halfway over when Tony broke the silence that had been shifting between them. 

“So kid, you having fun?” It was mostly meant as a light jab, something to get the kid talking again. 

“Ya’ know,” Peter murmured against his armor, “this isn’t the first time that you’ve given me a piggy-back ride after a battle.” Tony scrunched up his eyebrows and thought for a few minutes, when else would he have…

…

… 

_ Oh my god.  _

“The battle of New York in 2012?” Tony questioned, he felt Peter nod. “God, of course, you were off saving babies during the battle. You’ve really always been a self-sacrificial hero, kid.” 

Peter muttered a soft “not really.” but before he could, Tony continued, “I can’t believe that was you. Between you and that kid who tried to take down those bots at the Stark Expo a couple of years before, I had half a head of gray hair before I even met you.” Peter chuckled lightly at that. 

“What’s up, Pete.” 

“So… about that kid at the Stark Expo…” 

“You have got to be kidding me.” 


	3. Day Three- Delirium

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's months after his run-in with Mysterio, and Peter still can't tell what's real.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This specifically piece started off really close to the theme, but then I kept coming up with new ideas so it's really only loosely connected, this one is also weird because I didn't write it in one sitting like the others, instead it was written in chunks.   
Chapter specific tags: light gore, nightmares, PTSD, flashbacks, FFH compliant (but not the mid-credits scene)   
Come yell with me on tumblr @spiclergwen

If he was completely honest, Peter had genuinely thought that once he had gotten rid of Mysterio, that it would all be over. If he won, Mysterio wouldn’t be able to hurt him anymore. Like any other villain: Peter believed his time with Mysterio would be one and done.

  
He was, actually: super wrong.

  
When he had reunited with May after his disastrous trip to Europe, everything had been as fine as it was expected to be. He didn’t question her. He jumped into her arms and hugged her tight, at no point did he question if it was really his aunt. After all, Mysterio was gone-- why would he?

  
It took about a week for the reality of what he had gone through in Europe to really set in. Peter had gone to bed earlier than usual, a sensory overload migraine having kept him in bed for the majority of the day. The nightmare came hard and fast as Peter thrashed around in his sleep.

  
. . .

  
Homecoming was happening all over again. Peter rushed out of the dance, as usual, he fought the shocker exactly as he imagined it. He stole and subsequently totaled Flash’s car. The Vulture used his wingsuit to crash through the building supports, effectively collapsing the building onto Peter.

Except, this time it changed.

  
Peter was struggling under the rubble, attempting to get his feet underneath him when he heard his Aunt May.

  
“Peter? Peter, what’s going on?” Peter couldn’t see where the voice was coming from, but somehow he could tell that it was close to him.

  
“Aunt May? Where are you?” He shifted some of the rubble again, and a large piece of the concrete slid somewhere behind him, alleviating some of the weight that was resting on his shoulders.

  
“Peter? I’m stuck under this building and--” her voice cut off suddenly. Peter felt his blood run cold as he tried to make quicker work of shifting the rubble on top of him, determined to get to May.

  
Like it had in real life, Peter was eventually able to shake the rubble off of himself. He stood up and looked around the carnage for his aunt. He was able to see just a tiny tuft of her chocolate brown hair, her quiet screams leading him to her.

  
As he got closer, more rubble fell, like a different building was collapsing on top of them. It forced Peter to the ground, forcing himself back to square one.

  
“Aunt May, are you okay? Did the concrete hit you?” His breaths were getting shorter as he struggled to breathe under the building, this one feeling heavier than the one before it. There was a deafening moment of silence while Peter waited for her response.

  
“I’m… I’m here Peter, but I can’t breathe.” Like the time before, Peter quickly pushed the new rubble off of him as he rushed towards his aunt.

  
But it was clear somebody was tricking him because even though Peter knew it was a dream, he wasn’t still reduced to sobs as a third building seemed to fall out of nowhere.

  
. . .

  
“-ter?’

Somebody was shaking him,

“Peter!”

He bolted upright, almost knocking May in the forehead as he did so. He sat upright in his bed, panting for a few minutes while he took in his surroundings. He was in his bedroom, Aunt May stood by his side, one hand placed delicately on his shoulder as she attempted to steady him. 

His room was cold, probably because of the open window that brought in the cool New York breeze. He was shaking but found that he was also drenched with sweat. Once he had gained a bit of control over his unsteady breath and rapidly beating heart, he turned to his aunt, who was looking at him with a face chalked full of concern.

  
“You okay, Peter? I thought I could hear you crying.” Peter’s mind was racing: _I thought you were dead… how are you here... I thought you had been… crushed._

  
He attempted to steady himself as he turned towards his aunt, taking in a deep breath before he asked his next question.

  
“Tell me,” He carded his hand through his hair, “tell me something that only you would know.”

Quickly, his aunt’s expression turned from one of confusion to one of deep focus.

  
“On the night your parents died in that plane crash, Ben and I had to go to identify the bodies, and you came with us. You were wearing pajamas that had the Italian flag on them, your parents had sent them back from their vacation.”

  
Peter let out a breath he didn’t know he had been holding as he relaxed into his aunt’s hand.

  
“So you’re here, right? You’re real and you’ re-- alive?” Aunt May nodded forcefully as she rubbed soothing circles into his back.

  
“Yes, Peter, I am here and I am doing just fine.” Peter nodded contently at that.

  
“Thanks,” he spoke quietly as he tried to figure out what was happening, she had proven that she was real, but it felt like Peter had no idea what was real anymore.   
“Aunt May?” he asked, barely aware that she still sat beside him.

  
“Yes, baby?” Peter blinked slowly,

  
“I think I’m going crazy.” His voice broke on the last word as May pulled him into her chest and enveloped him in a tight hug.

  
“You’re not going crazy, honey, nightmares scare everybody, even superheroes.” All Peter could do was nod numbly.

It only got worse after that.

  
The next time it happened, Peter was at a sleepover with Ned. They were having a celebratory sleepover after finishing their winter finals, which meant they were both exhausted. Peter settled into his sleeping back on Ned’s carpeted floor and closed his eyes.

  
He had been having nightmares about Aunt May ever since his first one, and the only way he had been able to remedy it was by constantly asking her:

  
“Hey, what’s something that only you would know?”

  
If it bothered her, she never said anything, but Peter noticed that she was giving him increasing concerned looks each time he asked.

  
Peter drifted off into a restless sleep as he heard Ned snore beside him. Just like the first time, the nightmare hit him hard and fast the moment he was asleep.

  
. . .

  
They were back at the Washington Monument. Peter heard MJ yell:

  
“My friends are up there!” and Peter quickly leaped back into action as he scaled the monument. Like before, the dream was almost identical to the actual memory, he got into the monument at just the right time, and he grasped onto the elevator cords.

  
But just like the time before, the dream changed. Peter grabbed the cords that were holding up the elevator, and he began to pull up the elevator. But this time, he wasn’t strong enough. He felt the elevator cords start to slip through his closed fist as he desperately tried to pull it up. The friction of the cords was too much as they ripped away the fabric on his gloves and started to scratch against his palms.

  
He put all his power into keeping the elevator in his fist, but it wasn’t enough. The cords slipped out of his hand and the elevator with his best friend fell down into the darkness below. Peter could hear their screams the whole time, the falling felt like it took years, but just before they collided with the bottom, Peter heard Ned’s voice float up to him.

  
“Peter!”

  
. . .

  
“Peter?”

Peter sat up suddenly, sweaty hair falling into his eyes as he started to control his breathing. His heart pounded in his throat as he took into account his surroundings, Ned’s desk, his laptop, his legos scattering the floor.

  
“Ned?” Peter asked as he scrutinized his friend's face.

  
“Yeah, it’s me? What happened man? You seemed pretty spooked.” Peter either chose not to answer or didn’t hear it as he spoke:

  
“Tell me something only you would know.” Ned looked at him confused.

  
“Dude, are what are you talking about? Are you okay?” Peter looked at him, eyebrows scrunched together as his eyes began to fill with tears.

“Ned, please.” his voice sounded strained like he was just barely refraining from sobbing.

  
“Uh… okay…” Ned was racking his brain, desperate to come up with something, “Remember when we went to Washington D.C. with the decathlon team? And we hooked your Spider-Man suit up to my laptop so that we could override the training wheels protocol?” He watched as all the tension left Peter’s face as he started to nod.

  
They sat in silence for a moment.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” Ned asked, Peter was almost hunched over, his head resting on his knees.

  
“I’ll be fine, I just… needed to check.” Ned wasn’t entirely convinced, but he nodded anyway.

  
“Okay, if you say so.”

Ned stood up to get back into his bed, but not before he quietly added: “you can tell me if you need something.”

  
He tried to ignore the way Peter tried to sneakily wipe the tears off of his cheeks.

  
. . .

  
Peter was practically bouncing with excitement as he and MJ walked up to MJ’s family’s apartment on the sixth floor. Peter looked up at MJ, a few steps below him. Her unruly curls were tied up in a low ponytail with a velvet scrunchie, and she was wearing a pair of black leggings and one of Peter’s nerdy t-shirts (that she would always swear she hated.)

  
Not for the first time, Peter wondered how he got so lucky. He and MJ were going to back to her apartment like they did after most decathlon practices, MJ swore that it was so they could “prep” but Peter knew it was because her parents weren’t home until 8:00 or 9:00. (Besides, they spent a whole lot more movie watching and making out than they did prepping.)

  
Once they got in, MJ grabbed Peter by the hand and pulled him into her bedroom. Peter set out the extra blankets from the top of her closet and set up Parks and Rec while MJ grabbed an assortment of snacks from the kitchen. Peter laid across her bed and waited for her. As she came in, she flicked off the lights with one finger and closed her door with her foot as she settled down with him.

  
If asked he would probably deny it, but Peter was undoubtedly a little spoon, and he had to keep himself from sighing as MJ wrapped her arms around him. Peter rest his head on her chest and smiled as he clicked the play button.

  
It was long before they were both snoozing lightly. MJ fell asleep before Peter, who tried to fight sleep because fighting off sleep meant fighting off nightmares. But soon, he fell victim to the sound of MJ’s soft breathing and the light of her laptop.

  
He didn’t have any nightmares.

  
When they woke, MJ had glanced down at him through lidded eyes, smiling in that sleepy way she reserved only for Peter, a tiny crinkle of worry between her brows.

  
“Did you have any nightmares, are you feeling okay?” Peter nodded his head no.

  
“I don’t think I have them when I’m with you.” He smiled up at her, chuckling at her half-lidded attempt at an eye-roll. Her demeanor quickly turned serious as she carded a hand through his hair.

  
“That’s not how PTSD works, Peter. I think you just got lucky.” Peter gave a half-hearted shrug, knowing that she was right.

  
He pressed a soft kiss to her lips.

  
“Yeah, but it seems I’m always lucky when I’m with you.” MJ hit him on the arm.

  
“You got lucky, Parker.” She deadpanned in the way she always had with him.

  
“Yeah, probably.” she rolled her eyes again.

  
“You’re a loser.” She pressed a kiss to his cheek and Peter smiled at her.

  
“Yeah,” he laughed, “Probably.” 


	4. Day Four- Human Shield

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tony Stark only had one thing on his mind:   
It wasn't supposed to happen this way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I kept thinking this one would be short because of my plan for tomorrow (which I think is going to be pretty long). But then I started writing it and it made 2,201 words. I think I've been giving to much exposition, so I tried to give less here, but it backfired.   
Anyways, as always: let me know what you think and I'll see you tomorrow!   
Chapter specific tags: gunshot, hospitals, light descriptions of wounds, sorta fluffy ngl.   
p.s. follow me on tumblr @spiclergwen

It wasn’t supposed to happen this way. For a few moments, that’s the only thought that is running through Tony Stark’s mind. It was pulsing through his mind like his heartbeat. 

_ It wasn’t supposed to happen this way. _

_ It wasn’t supposed to happen this way. _

Peter’s headed was supported by Tony’s lap as Happy sped through the streets of New York, breaking every traffic law in the books and then some. 

But no matter how fast Happy went, it felt like he wasn’t driving fast enough. 

Tony sighed as looked down at Peter’s face. He was far paler than Tony had ever seen him, and the ghostly whiteness of his face made the dark bags under his eyes seem all the more prominent. Sweaty brown curls were falling into his face as he tried to bring in a few shallow breaths. 

His eyes were sparkling with tears and his eyelids fluttered every few minutes, like the only thing keeping him awake was his sheer force of will. 

With a deep sigh, Tony realized that was probably the truth. 

His eyes continued to travel down Peter’s form, to where he knew the bullet wound was. Tony was by no means great at physical anatomy, but if he had to guess, he would assume the bullet had traveled right through Peter’s large intestine. 

_ A bullet,  _ he thought with a sigh, _ that was meant for me.  _

He carded one hand through Peter’s curls, trying to ignore the clamminess of his skin as he spoke with a delicacy he didn’t even know he possessed. 

“It’s gonna be okay kid, we’re almost to the compound and then Dr. Cho will have you stitched up in no time.” 

Peter made a soft noise, an attempt to acknowledge what Tony had said to him. Tony blinked back his own tears and trained his hearing on Peter, waiting with bated breath for each of the inhales and exhales, his eyes trained on the uneven rise and fall of his chest, determined to ignore the gaping hole in his kid’s body. 

Once they arrived at the compound, everything seemed to move in a blur. A couple of the nurses from the medbay were already waiting for them, and they had Peter lifted out of Tony’s lap and onto a stretcher before he had managed to unbuckled his seat belt. 

As he stumbled out of the car, Happy shut the door behind him, but besides that, it was completely silent.

“The wound isn’t fatal.” Happy said finally, “it’s going to be just f-” Tony cut him off. 

“I know he’ll be fine… it’s just..” He shook his head, “I’m going to go call May Parker, you might as well start heading back to Queens, she’ll want to see him once he’s awake.” 

Happy nodded wordlessly and headed back to the driver’s side of the car, but not before he clapped one hand on Tony’s shoulder, not speaking, but giving him a look that Tony had seen many times before: take care of yourself. 

Tony watched as Happy drove away before finally leaving the garage of the compound, turning to head up the stairs to where he knew the medbay would exponentially calmer than he ever thought it could be. 

He sat in the medbay alone for what felt like hours, until he heard the quiet patter of May’s shoes as she came from the hallway. She burst in, head to toe in scrubs, and Tony realized that she must’ve come from work. 

She didn’t say anything at first when she sat down next to him, she just stared down at the white tile floor. It was almost five full minutes before she spoke.

“Ya’ know, I’m sort of used to this kind of call by now.” Tony didn’t say anything, but he nodded in understanding.

“But,” she interrupted, catching Tony’s full attention, “it gets a bit easier when it’s all hidden behind a stage name.” Tony knew exactly what she meant. For security reasons, they all made a conscious effort to say “Spider-Man” whenever Peter got injured. 

May let out a quiet sniffle before she continued, “it was so weird to hear that he got shot as himself, as regular ol’ Peter Parker.” Tony nodded. 

“I’m sorry.” He finally spoke, looking up at May and meeting her eyes, “I never thought this would happen.” May gave a shrug, a half-assed attempt at nonchalance. 

“He’s going to be fine, right?” Tony went to answer, but he didn’t have to. 

“He’s going to be just fine, he’s already practically healed anyway.” They both looked up to see Dr. Helen Cho, standing in front of them with her clipboard. She wandered over to them and sat down next to me, giving no further greeting before she dived into the information they were both waiting for. 

“It was a pretty simple solution, We had an endotracheal tube inserted, but we've been able to move to just a normal oxygen mask just to help with his oxygen levels, he’s still hooked up to a couple of IVs, but we were able to remove the nasogastric tube as well.” She flipped the page on her clipboard. 

“We had a little bit of trouble with getting the bullet out, there weren’t any exit wounds, so we knew we had to find and remove the bullet before patching him up.” She pushed a lone strand of jet black hair behind her ear before she continued.

“His accelerated healing is definitely both a blessing and a curse. His body had already started to heal around the bullet, so we had to do a bit more to get it out.” She gave a soft smile to Tony and May before she finished. 

“The only lasting damage may be that he’s a little more in pain for the next few days around the intestine area, but he should be just fine. I think you’re both fine to go see him if you’d like.” She stood up with an air of such finality that neither Tony or May questioned it, as she was whisked out of the room by a nurse the second she stood up. 

“Go in and see him,” Tony whispered, gesturing towards the hospital room that Peter was always in when he got hurt (he could feel bile crawl up his throat at the sheer knowledge the Peter was hurt often enough to have his own room.) “I should probably go deal with the press anyway.” 

May nodded, knowing Tony’s reluctance had nothing to do with the press, and everything to do with his constant fear that he was “impeding” on May’s time with Peter (no matter how many times she had assured him that he would always be welcome). 

Tony headed to the main living space of the compound, knowing Pepper would already be there. 

He was right, she was sitting at the breakfast bar, a cup of coffee in her hands and another cup (presumably for Tony) sat at the stool across from her. He grabbed it as she slid into his seat, he didn’t say anything, but he listened closely to her phone call. 

“Stark Industries is currently declining to comment on the familial status of Tony Stark and the young man he was seen with the other day,” she paused as Tony heard the person on the other end of the line speak, but he couldn’t make out what they were saying. 

“We may very well hold a press conference later in the week, but I cannot provide a set date right now, the most important thing for the press to know right now is that everybody involved is expected,” she turned towards Tony as though looking for some form of approval for what she said next, “to make a full and complete recovery.” And with that, she hung up. 

The silence hung in the air between them for a moment. 

“How crazy is the press?” Tony asked quietly, not entirely confident that he wanted the answer. 

“To be completely frank, I think they’re more interested in knowing who Peter is, I’m not sure if anybody cares about the context outside of that.” Tony nodded shortly.

“Will we need to hold a press conference at all, everything could blow over in a week.” Pepper shook her head sadly.

“You were seen hanging out with a teenage boy nobody had ever seen before, that was going to raise some eyebrows regardless.” Tony sighed, he knew it was really only a matter of time before the press got wind of Peter, given the sheer amount of time he spent with the kid. 

“The only thing you need to worry about,” Pepper interrupted his train of thought, “is making sure that Peter’s doing alright. The PR department and I have the press end handled, and the security department is making sure that there’s no identifying information about Peter anywhere on the internet outside of his academic achievements.” 

“That’s good,” he exhaled, “that’s, okay, that’s actually really good.” He smiled just a little as he thought about it, grateful that his team had been able to get ahead of everything. 

“But Tony,” Pepper asked, laying a hand on the top of his arm, “what even happened?”

The memories flashed through Tony’s mind: he and Peter had been walking towards Happy’s car. There was yelling… and a man with a gun… and suddenly Peter was pushing him to the side and then…

There was blood everywhere… Peter’s blood was wetting his chest and hands as he grabbed the kid. Vaguely he registered Happy helping him stand as they got the kid to the car. The police must have arrived at some point, but by the time they were there Happy had already reached the city limits. 

The memories were foggy, but Tony didn’t even know how to put it into words as he looked at Pepper. 

“Some guy, with a gun, was mad about something,” vaguely Tony remembered hearing the man with the gun screaming about something, but he couldn’t remember what it was, “he shot… and the bullet was meant for me, but Peter jumped in front of the gun before I even knew what was happening.” He sighed and buried his head in his hands.

“It’s my fault, Pep--’ She was quick to cut him off. 

“It is absolutely not your fault. Peter’s a superhero, remember? He would’ve done it for anybody. And besides,” she added before he could cut her off, “he cares about you, there’s no way in hell he would’ve stood to the side and let you get hurt.” Tony wanted to argue further, but he knew that she made good points. 

“Go see your kid Tony, he probably wants to talk to you.” Tony nodded at her suggestion and headed back towards the medbay, he passed May Parker on the way. 

“I’m just going to get some coffee,” she smiled at him as their paths crossed, “he’s doing just fine-- but be warned, he’s definitely a little high off of his painkillers.” Tony smiled at that, and he knocked once on the frame of the door before he entered Peter’s room. 

Peter was almost sitting completely up in bed, he had a large smile on his face as he fidgeted with his hands. He looked up as Tony entered his room and sat down in the chair next to his bed, his smile so large it took up most his face. 

Tony tried to give him a smile back, but he knew it was nowhere near as enthusiastic. 

“How are you feeling?” He asked. Peter nodded slightly.

“I’m doing great, I’m a little bit tired, but everything feels really nice-- it doesn’t even feel like I goto shot or anything!” There was a weird juxtaposition between the content of Peter’s words and the almost child-like excitement that seeped into the way he said them. 

Tony felt his smile get a little less forced, “do you wanna go to sleep, bud?” Peter nodded and Tony stood up and grabbed the remote for Peter’s bed, lowering him down so he was flat on his back. 

“Okay kiddo, sheets?” Peter nodded through his yawn as Tony pulled the sheet up to Peter’s chest and tucked him in. He did the same thing with the blanket laying towards the bottom of the bed. Before he could think about it, he leaned down and placed a kiss on Peter’s forehead, smoothing down his curls as he turned away. 

A tad bit embarrassed, he quickly turned around to exit the room but before he could, Peter spoke up.

“Wait!” Tony looked back at Peter, who was staring at him with wide eyes. 

“Mr. Stark?” He asked quietly, glancing around as though he didn’t want anybody else to hear him. 

“Yeah, kid.” Peter’s face broke out into a sleepy grin. 

“I love you.” Tony refused to acknowledge the tears that sprung in his eyes as he whispered: 

“I love you too.” And with that, he turned back around, throwing a “get some sleep, Pete.” over his shoulder. 

Tony was so caught up in the moment, that he didn’t even hear May Parker whisper, “Friday? Can you send that audio file to me?” 


	5. Day five- Gun-point

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter's caught between revealing his identity and getting shot.  
(It isn't really a very hard decision).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> God bless I am so happy that this piece is done. When I started to plan whumptober (back in early September) I knew immediately what I wanted to do for this, I just hope that I was able to do it justice. It's a long one folks (there are 1400 words before we even start the real story).  
Chapter specific tags: made-up science, kidnapping, light gore, physical assault of a child, probably more cursing the necessary, identity reveal.  
as always, my Tumblr is @spiclergwen

If you asked Tony directly, he would never admit it, but there was one thing that was becoming more and more clear to him as time went on: he actually really liked the kid. He had never seen himself as somebody who would ever have an intern. After all, there were two things he knew to be absolutely true.

One. He was incredibly difficult to work with. 

Two. There’s no way he would ever trust a  _ child _ anywhere near his labs.

Of course, that had all been before he had met Peter Parker. 

It felt so recent, but Tony knew it had been almost a year since he had taken the kid on as his intern. When he thought about, he could remember it almost perfectly:

. . . 

Tony never thought that he would willingly enter a high school ever again, not since his own high school days, but here he was, at Midtown School of Science and Technology. He had very little interest in judging some teenage nerds at a science fair but after the recent disaster with the Accords, Pepper had insisted that the positive PR wouldn’t hurt. 

Tony milled around with the other judges as they looked at science project after science project. Every eye was on Tony as he moved around the stuffy gym, his expensive shoes squeaking against the wood as he picked up projects and questioned whatever kid had completed it. 

The kid in question was usually sweating bullets as they got asked about their projects by Tony Stark himself. 

Tony could sniff out nerves like a shark, and each of these kids had the same “I’m-terrified-but-I-don’t-want-anyone-to-know” look plastered across their faces, which always make them look just a tad bit constipated. 

So when Tony found a kid who didn’t seem scared at all, he was immediately intrigued. He read the nameplate that sits in front of the project as he approached. 

“Peter Parker?” He asked as he stepped forward. The table was simpler than most, with a roll of something that looked like tape, next to a series of demonstrative injuries and a microscope. The kid nodded.

“Yes, sir, that’s me.” Unlike the others, who had eyed Tony nervously until he had prompted them to start speaking, Parker seemed to have no trouble rushing into an explanation, excitement radiating from him. 

“So essentially what I’ve made here is a type of bandage that helps heal wounds quicker and helps heal them faster. The end goal would be to create something that could the same people who would have to wait a while before receiving medical attention, but also would be durable enough that it could withstand a range of injuries.” He took a breath as he smiled at the judges, and Tony could see that he was making an effort to avoid staring at Tony for too long. He appreciated it. 

“It’s not quite that strong for right now, but it can stabilize a non-fatal bullet wound for over sixteen minutes, which is four times the average response time of an ambulance here in the city.” He smiled brightly at them, and Tony couldn’t help but feel incredibly impressed with the kid, after all-- most of these kids were just trying to make a potato clock, not revolutionize the medical field. 

“There are some interactive diagrams of how the bandage works, and if you look into this microscope, you’ll be able to see a close up of the fibers used.” Tony smiled as he tossed the roll of bandages in his hands, before for stretching over one of the displays. He had to say, he was impressed with the kid's work as he mumbled to himself just loudly enough for Peter to hear.

“The strength of this must be pretty amazing… it doesn’t appear to be very sticky and it looks like it’s fairly absorbent.” He looked up at the kid, who was staring at him with an excited expression. He felt the smile slide onto his face easily. 

“I’ve got to say, Mr. Parker-- this is pretty impressive stuff.” The smile that immediately spread across the kid’s face caused a weird fluttering in Tony’s chest that he couldn’t quite place. 

“Thank you, Mr. Stark, it’s an honor to hear that from you.” Tony offered him another tight-lipped smile as he nodded curtly and moved onto the next booth, already making plans in his head.

Peter won the fair; of course, how couldn’t he? Once it was over, and the majority of the non-participants had flooded out of the gym, and Tony had taken a stupid number of pictures with the students and faculty, he found himself heading back over to Peter’s table, where he could see the boy packing up while chatting animatedly with an older woman. As he got closer, he could hear bits and pieces of their conversation.

“--May, he called me impressive, It’s was crazy!”

“You are impressive, honey.” The kid blushed at that and looked down as Tony made it to them.

“Mr. Parker,” He greeted briefly to catch his attention, and he saw that the kid’s head shot up at his voice, eyes wide.

“Mr. Stark,” he smiled, “thank you so much for your comments earlier, they were really nice!” Again, Tony felt his heart flutter.

“No problem, you deserved every one of them.” Peter opened his mouth, no doubt to deny the compliment but Tony continued before he could:

“Do you, perchance, have the time for an internship?” 

. . .

Peter really was an incredible foil to Tony, he countered his ideas well, and he was, ridiculously, incredibly intelligent. And yeah, Tony knew the kid was smart, but sometimes Peter would come into work on something, and he would say something so incredibly mind-blowing, that it knocked Tony off of his feet. 

Tony would never admit it, but he found himself getting closer to the kid. He didn’t just want to hear about his scientific breakthroughs (although, those were always fun) he wanted to hear about his classes, his aunt, his stupid legos with his friend Ned. He really tried to pull away, after all-- there’s no way this was appropriate mentor behavior-- but every time he saw Peter smile, or laugh, he was sucked right back in. 

Everything was going well, Rhodey was in physical therapy, Pepper was running the company perfectly, things were even starting to come back together with the accords. And on top of all that: Tony had an intern, a kid he really saw as the future. 

So of course, that was when it all went to shit. 

It was a normal Tuesday (a Tuesday that Tony would never forget-- September 12th). It had been a completely normal morning (he had even gone to a meeting or two). But then, something decidedly un-normal happened. He was at his workbench, fixing some of Friday’s coding when Happy burst in, looking more stressed than Tony had ever seen him. For him, this was the calm before the storm (and he wouldn’t forget the time before it all hit the fan: 11:34). 

“Tony?” Tony nodded his acknowledgment, and Happy wasted no time in dropping a bomb: “There’s been a breach in security.” Tony’s head shot up, eyes wide in surprise as he looked at Happy. 

“What kind of security breach?” His voice was boarding panicked, and for a moment Happy didn’t seem to know if he should comfort Tony or finish the bad news. 

“They leaked all the employee badges-- names, ages, schools,  _ clearance levels. _ ” Tony felt himself let out a breath, that didn't seem too bad at all. 

“Okay, well-- that could be a whole lot worse--” But he stopped dead in his tracks as he looked at Happy’s face. 

“Not really. There are about a thousand reporters outside, and they all want to know why we have a high school intern with clearance higher than some of the avengers.” Tony cursed under his breath, _ of course:  _ Peter. 

“Is the kid okay?” Happy shrugged, “He was at lunch not long after we found out about the breach. I called the school to try and get him a security detail, but apparently his aunt called him out.” Tony nodded. 

“That’s probably good, home is the safest place he could be right now. Once we get a handle on the media, I’ll call his aunt and check in on him.” 

And it probably would have been all fine and dandy, if Peter had actually been called out by his aunt. 

He came too right as the suburbs began to slowly transform into the woods. There were hard, metal cuffs attaching his hands and feet together, along with a metal band that clasped around his mouth, preventing him from speaking. 

He saw a man glanced up from the driver’s seat, and his eyes met Peter’s from the rearview window. He let out a menacing smile full of sharp teeth. 

Peter struggled against the cuffs, he was Spider-Man, after all-- he should be able to break out of these-- but his restraints didn’t budge. He felt his webshooters against the metal, but he couldn’t get them to move up any higher. The man in front laughed, and the two lackeys who sat on either side of Peter chuckled with him.

“Don’t even bother with struggling kid, you won’t be able to get out.” The main bad guy seemed content to just leave it at that, but his two lackeys jumped in. 

“Yeah, we bought some weird drugs off of a guy, he says that if you’re dealing with an enhanced, it’ll take away all their powers for at least twelve hours.” The guy on his right nodded.

“Yeah, yeah-- we didn’t know if yous was an enhanced o’not, so we gave you the drug, just in case. You never really know when dealing with Tony Stark.”

Peter stopped struggling, realizing that was the truth (and if the way his restraints hadn’t budged was any indication, it was) he had no way to get out until somebody came to get him. Embarrassingly, he felt tears pricked at his eyes as the car pulled up to some sort of abandoned warehouse, One of the lackeys grabbed him pulled him out of the car, and all but dragged him into the building.

Peter didn’t know if his senses were slowed down, or if everything was happening quickly, but before he knew what was going on, he had been sat in his chair. The lackeys made quick work of locking his restraints behind the chair, leaving him stuck there. The main bad guy came up to Peter again, and again he bore a wolfish smile as pushed one of his disgusting hands through Peter’s hair, staring down at him with such an intensity that Peter felt dirty. 

“So you’re Peter Parker? The now-famous intern to Tony Stark?” When Peter (obviously) failed to answer, the man continued. 

“Or should I say,” he lifted up his hands to mimic quotation marks, “‘intern’ after all, there must’ve been something more going on?” Peter had no idea how to react, his Peter instincts were telling him to just be quiet and wait it out, but his Spider-Man side was telling him to fight back. (Although how he wasn’t sure). 

“You, my child,” the man smiled down again at Peter, “are going to make us so much money when Tony feels the need to cough up your ransom money.” Peter rolled his eyes at the man, the only sign of defiance since he had woken up in the car.

The man immediately smacked him across the face, and Peter could feel the handprint forming on his cheek. 

“You dare! Roll your eyes at me?” Peter couldn’t help but roll his eyes again, if he hadn’t been scared shitless, he probably would have just been tired of the dramatics. 

Immediately, the man wrapped his hand around Peter’s throat and he squeezed, not a lot-- just enough to remind Peter that he was no safe.

“Don’t.” He smirked as Peter slumped to the best of his ability, “We don’t want to send you back damaged.” He chuckled along with the lackeys as he stalked around Peter like he was looking at his prey. 

Except, Peter couldn’t stop-- no matter what he did, he couldn’t stop the sarcasm from rising up into his every action. He rolled his eyes at every command, and when they freed his mouth to ask him a question, he had made comment after comment-- determined to not allow them to “win” whatever shitty game they were playing.

With each comment came another punishment of sorts, a punch, a kick, whatever, Peter knew he could handle it. 

Peter was great at keeping track of time, but the tiny window near the door helped him realize that it must be getting late, and Peter was having a hard time keeping track of his injuries: he had a couple of broken ribs, a smattering of bruises across his body, potentially a concussion and most importantly: a literal knife sticking out of his abdomen. (Turns out, when a villain says, “What am I?” while waving a knife around, the correct answer was not: “a knife-arious villain.”)

(Okay, maybe it wasn’t his best pun: but can you blame him: he was little tied up at the moment.) 

Peter, definitely recognized that somebody had taken a picture of him, but it turns out whatever drug they gave him was really no joke: and it was affecting his healing factor big time. 

On the other side of the state, Tony Stark was freaking out. When he called the kid’s aunt, all she had said was: “oh, I’m sure he’s fine. He has decathlon practice tonight.” 

“So, just to clarify, you didn’t call him out of school at lunch?”

“...No, I did not.” 

“Well, fuck.” 

Honestly, Tony was happy that criminals were so dumb. Sure, they were able to kidnap his intern, drive him to a secluded area and hold him for ransom, but they weren’t smart enough to block the IP address of the phone they were using. 

They had sent him a picture from an unknown number, with some ridiculous request about paying a million dollars to get the kid back. ( _ Why would I do that when I can track addresses? _ Tony wondered tiredly). The more disturbing part; however, was the picture that had accompanied the message. 

He knew it was Peter before he had even opened the message, and immediately, he was terrified. Peter had bruises all over his face and arms, there was dried blood under his nose and on his lips, there seemed to be a distinct imprint of hands around his neck and… oh yeah: 

He had a fucking knife sticking out of his body. 

He sent the coordinates to Friday, told happy to get the kid’s aunt and bring her to the tower, and was in a suit flying over the city before the message was even a minute old. 

Peter knew none of this, he found himself much more cognizant of the way his body ached as his toes held up his body weight. 

Apparently, his captors had gotten bored, because after a while, they tired of beating him while he was tied to a chair, and instead, they removed his ankle cuffs (he tried to kick one of the lackeys, but his mind was cloudy with bloodloss, so it was useless) and attached his arms to one of the beams the hung low enough that Peter was just able to balance on his toes.

It felt like he was there for hours before his ears picked it up: the distinct sound of the Iron Man suit. He glanced around, but it didn’t seem that any of his captors had heard it yet. He heard them get louder and louder, and right before the Iron Man boots hit the ground, the main bad guy looked up: an unmistakable mix of terror and recognition in dawning on his face. Quickly, he was out of his chair and barking orders, He quickly ordered that Peter be moved back to the van, for a “quick escape.” But the adrenaline rush that came with potential freedom made reinvigorated Peter, and as one of the lackeys was uncuffing his hands from the pole, he swiftly threw an elbow his face. He stumbled and Peter dropped to the ground, wincing at the pain at the knife still embedded in his side. 

As quickly as he could, Peter slid his webshooters up into place, and he quickly fired one towards the lackey closest to him, binding his hands together. The recognition dawned on the other lackey’s face, but he didn’t move faster than Peter, who shot a web right over his ankles, causing him to stumble and fall. Peter repeated the process as he bound his hands together. 

He looked up to the main guy, whose eyes were wide. But Peter was confident. 

Too, confident. Quickly, the man pulled a gun out of his pocket and pointed it towards Peter. At almost the same time, Tony Stark kicked down the door. He stormed in and gazed confused at the situation in front of him: two lackeys, clearly apprehended by Spider-Man, but no Spider-Man to be seen. His intern was miraculously upright, despite his injuries, and some random dude stood a few feet in front of him, a gun level with Peter’s head. 

Without turning around, he spoke: “If you move, Stark-- I will not hesitate to shoot Peter.” Tony stalled, genuinely unsure of what to do as he looked between the man and Peter, terrified that he would actually act on his threat. He was trying to come up with a decision when Peter made the choice for him.

“Honestly, guys-- it’s been fun, really, but I have school tomorrow.” He looked up at Peter, who proceeded to shoot a  _ web  _ out of his  _ wrist, _ pulling the gun out of the man’s hand, like he was Spider-Man or something. 

The reality of the situation dawned rapidly on Tony as he watched Peter throw the gun somewhere behind him, hitting the man with another quip before he too was bound to the floor by his webs. 

Tony and Peter looked at each other for a moment, as they both tried to process what had happened. Peter’s mind was chanting: he knows my identity, all these bad dudes know my identity, periodically broken up by the protesting of his injuries.

Tony’s mind was chanting too, some repetition of: are you kidding me? Finally, he found his voice.

“We should… uh… probably go.” Peter nodded. 

“Yeah.” by his throat felt like the desert as he approached his mentor. Tony laid a numb hand on Peter’s shoulder before speaking again.

“I gotta say it-- what the hell, Parker?” Peter attempted a sheepish smile as Tony lifted him into his arms to carry him home

“...Suprise?” Tony scoffed,

“Yeah, it is.” They were both quiet for a few minutes.

“So that’s it, I’m not going to get a lecture about safety or something?” Tony rolled his eyes at the kid.

“Oh, you absolutely will. But maybe we should get that knife out of you first.” Peter laughed lightly.

“Yeah, Maybe.” 


	6. Day six- Dragged away

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter has a conversation with his uncle Ben.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello all!   
I loved my idea for this day, but I had a super long day (I just moved to a new city and I'm still getting used to it, so I got super lost) so it's a bit shorter, (still 1900+ words, though!) If I'm honest, this might be my favorite piece so far.   
Chapter-specific tags: temporary character death.   
I hope you enjoy nonetheless, your comments and kudos mean the world to me!   
As always, I'm on Tumblr at @spiclergwen

He was standing right  _ there,  _ Peter could see him. He found himself smiling, completely ignoring his surroundings and the throbbing pain in his chest as he approached him. His smile was as bright as always, he had on a clean white shirt that was tucked into his regular blue jeans. Peter loved how plain he had always been.

The reached his arms out towards Peter, and Peter felt some weird voice in the back of his mind tell him  _ no, don’t go to him. _

But how couldn’t he? He was standing right there, for the first time in years, he was there. It was like he had never left.

He was still his Uncle Ben. 

Even as he stared at him, Peter felt himself start to tear up as he looked at this Uncle. All other thoughts drifted away, vaguely Peter realized that the rooftop he was standing on top of was slowly transforming into the hallway in his apartment, but he was too overjoyed to notice anything.

“Am I sleeping?” He walked towards Ben, who was still holding his arms outstretched. Peter was just a couple of feet away from him. 

The smile fell away from his Uncle’s eyes as he shook his head no. Peter walked closer to his uncle, he was almost close enough to touch him now. 

“Am I dead?” This time, Uncle Ben merely shrugged, and Peter could see tears on the other man’s face. Besides the shrug, he ignored Peter’s question entirely. 

“I’m so proud of you, Peter.” Peter started to cry openly at that. His chest still hurt, and he found that despite his sobs, he was completely unable to breathe deeply. He choked on his own tears as he approached his uncle, the pain in his chest growing bigger.

He couldn’t quite reach out to touch his uncle, but he desperately wanted too. He was just a foot away, but he couldn’t seem to get any farther. He reached out, but it was like he was hitting an invisible wall. 

His uncle gave him another sad smile as he tried to reach for his nephew, finding himself also completely unable to do it. There was a weird film between them, something murky and golden like the sun that kept them apart.

Ben quickly whipped the tears from his eyes as Peter clutched his chest. Peter looked at him again, a desire settling into his chest, wedging itself into the mysterious pain and making it’s home there. He began to cry harder.

He felt conflicted and he couldn’t place why. It was like his body and his mind were in two different places, and his mind wanted him to stay put, to spend just a few more moments (or maybe even forever with Ben). But his mind was pushing him like it was trying to pull him away. The pain in his chest grew bigger, and it felt as though his whole front was wet. 

He tried to reach for his uncle again and was shocked when the film gently rolled like ocean waves between them-- it was getting weaker. 

Peter looked back at his Uncle Ben, who looked as confused as Peter felt. His face was still graced with the same sad smile as he whispered to Peter.

“I hope you know what happened isn’t your fault.” Peter opened his mouth to protest, but his uncle continued, “but more importantly: I want you to know that you have a choice coming up, a big one, and I need you to know that whatever consequences arise from your choice are not your fault.” Peter nodded numbly.

Everything felt like it was fading away and becoming more clear all at the same time. The pain in his chest and moved from searing hot to a dull ache in a matter of moments, and he found that the wasn’t even all that considered with the pressure that was sitting on top of his chest. He felt lighter than he had in years. 

On the other hand, everything else was becoming more clear: he could make out the bulging of his uncle’s pockets (housing his wallet and key), he could clearly see the pictures that lined the hallways of his own family home. If he listened closely, it sounded like he could hear a Mets game in the background. 

He tried to reach out towards his uncle again and found that he was able to force his hand through the film. His uncle grabbed his wrist but did not prove him through the film. 

“I didn’t think this would happen so soon.” His uncle sighed. Peter must’ve looked confused because his uncle continued speaking: “I thought… I thought you had this.” Peter shrugged as he looked at this uncle, and he noticed the Ben looked more broken than Peter had ever seen him. 

“You look so tired, Peter.” Peter felt himself fitting back tears, his arm felt detached from the rest of him as it was anchored to the other side of the film. He was still in pain, but it was quiet. His brain was still telling him to run, but even that had quieted down. Vaguely, he felt the serenity interrupted, as though somebody was yelling in the background.

“I am.” He said finally, “I’m really tired.” His uncle sighed at looked past Peter, towards a place Peter couldn’t see. He looked at Peter’s face, again, and he pulled him through the film a little more, but he left both of Peter’s feet planted firmly on the other side. He used his free hand to wipe the tears from Peter’s face. Peter felt his tears swiped away, but he didn’t feel his uncle’s hand. 

“Peter,” his uncle spoke again, “Do you want to rest?” Peter nodded. He reached his other hand towards Peter, and he grasped it, he had just set his right foot through the film when he heard it. 

_ “Pete, please, please.”  _ The disembodied voice seemed to come from both nowhere and everywhere. It sounded hysterical in its pleas. The pain Peter heard was enough to stop him, left foot raised in the air. 

_ “Kiddo, I promise you, it’s going to be okay, please, please, stay here.”  _ Peter started to lower his left foot behind him. 

_ “Underoos, I can’t do this without you, bud. You gotta come back to us, please kid.”  _ Peter recognized the voice: Tony Stark. But he had never heard him plead like this. For a moment, he wondered where it was coming from. He looked at uncle, and suddenly it all started to make sense. 

The next voice he heard didn’t belong to Tony Stark, but it made his blood run cold.

_ “Do you think we should call it?”  _ Somehow, he knew exactly what it meant.

_ “No, not yet -- please, I know he’ll come back.” _ Then quietly, to Peter:  _ “I won’t give up on you, kid. I’ll drag you back if I have too.” _ Finally, Peter looked at his Uncle Ben.

“If I step through to you-- I won’t come back, will I?” He knew what he really meant, but the couldn’t say it yet. He couldn’t say that he was d-dead.

Uncle Ben nodded. 

“But Peter, I trust you. Do whatever you need to do.” Peter felt himself start sobbing despite himself. 

“I don’t know, I don’t know, I’m not ready to make this decision, I wasn’t ready for any of this.” He looked up at his uncle, who looked close to tears again. 

“You weren’t ready, and you shouldn’t have had to be, but you were: you are so special, Pete. You are so smart and compassionate. You could change the world,” he was quiet for a moment, “you already have.” Peter lowered his head, stuck in the limbo of his own decision.

“Peter, if you choose to come to tot me right now, that’s it. It’s done. You deserve to rest if that’s what you really want.” Keeping one foot on the other side, Peter reached out to hug his uncle as best he could.

“You deserve everything you’ve ever wanted. If you’re done that’s okay but… Peter, I will not be hurt if you’re not done. If you go back there right now, it will not be easy.” He looked at his uncle. 

“How long have I been here?” Peter felt his science brain going-- if he went back now: would he be able to Spider-Man? Would he be able to breathe, eat, sleep normally? Uncle Ben laughed, as though he could hear Peter’s thoughts.

“Not very long, if you go back-- you will be the same.” Uncle Ben choked on the next sentence, “everything will be okay.” Peter heard Tony again, begging him to come back. He leaned into his uncle’s embrace for a moment before pulling away and looking his uncle deep in the eyes. 

He turned his head back towards where he had come, and saw a light at the end, flimsy and flickering, he knew he didn’t have much time left.

“I’m sorry.” He told his uncle as he pulled his right foot back through the film and set it down on the other side.

“Thank you, I love you, I’m sorry.” His uncle just nodded his understanding. Peter pulled the head out of the film so that just his arms were left. 

“I have to do this.” He pulled his left arm out. He took a deep sigh as looked at his uncle. 

“I’m not ready to go.” he squeezed Uncle Ben’s hand, and he heard the man whisper through his smile.

“You did good, kid.” Peter nodded, tears streaming down his face. His uncle let go of his hand, and Peter choked through another sob as another “Thank you. I love you. I’m sorry.” ripped through his throat. 

He pulled his final hand through the film, and it slowly disappeared, and he watched as Uncle Ben faded away. 

For a moment it was silent, and then Peter turned towards the light. He started walking, he couldn’t hear his uncle or Mr. Stark. The only thing he could hear was the pounding of his sneakers against the dark floor. 

When he reached the light, he stepped through it, and instead of relief; he felt a crushing, stabbing pain re-enter his chest. 

. . . 

His heart rate had been flatlined for about two minutes. Happy was already driving the kid’s aunt upstate. But Tony was painfully aware that it was only him that was with Peter when he--

**No** , he couldn’t say it yet. 

He felt himself begin to cry again. He lost the kid. One of the most important things in his life: his intern, his movie night buddy, the heir to his company, the future of the avengers. His son. Dr. Cho entered the room again and then looked at Tony. As gently as she could, she reminded him. 

“Tony, please let me call it.” He was about to shake his head no, but something stopped him, told him that it was time to let go. Time to stop prolonging the suffering. He looked up at her and realized that she had tears bubbling in her eyes as well. 

“I think we--” before he could finish his sentence, the sound of flat-lining stopped and was suddenly replaced with the slow, erratic sound of a heartbeat. Cho and Tony looked at each other, and then looked at Peter, just in time to see him take in a deep breath of oxygen, despite his injuries. 

Tony grasped the kid’s hand.

“Peter, if you can hear me, squeeze my palm.” Peter squeezed softly. Dr. Cho looked at Tony in shock.

“I’ll go prep the OR, so we can finish up.” Tony nodded, and suddenly he felt the kid squeeze his hand, he squeezed a quick pattern, something Tony immediately recognized as morse code. 

** _T-H-A-N-K-S-F-O-R-D-R-A-G-G-I-N-G-M-E-B-A-C-K_ **


	7. Chapter seven- Isolation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter can't help but feel isolated, after all: there are no other teenage superheroes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay friends, so here the deal with this one: I had zero inspiration. This was a rough one. I could only come up with one thing I even sort of liked, but there's barely any plot. I'm not hugely interested in this piece, and quite honestly: it's a whole lot of dialogue. I'm gonna warn you now: it's the comic book characters (Fantastic 4) and it's lacking some familiar MCU faces (Tony Stark) but the version of Peter is MCU.   
Enjoy this dumpster fire and hopefully, tomorrow will be better. (Side note: I love identity reveal fics).   
I'm on Tumblr @spiclergwen

It wasn’t fair, not really. It wasn’t fair to Peter that he was burdened with some other purpose, this intense desire to help people. He watched as everybody else his age got to walk around freely, they didn’t need to constantly worry in somebody was being stabbed or raped or murdered. They didn’t have to deprive themselves of sleep or a proper part-time job in order to save their city.

And technically, Peter didn’t either-- did he? His choice to be Spider-Man was nobody’s fault but his own, but sometimes it got lonely. Not just because he couldn’t talk about it, because he couldn’t tell Aunt May or MJ or Ned for fear of their safety. But because there was nobody that could relate. There was nobody else that was exactly like him. 

Sure, there were other mutants and enhanced people, there were other superheroes and vigilantes, and of course, there were others that were struggling to pay for food and could barely afford basic necessities. But Peter’s struggle was different because he wasn’t even an adult yet. 

Literally, every single hero Peter knew or had ever heard of was an adult. The Avengers? All of them: adults. Daredevil? An adult. Jessica Jones and Luke Cage? Adults. Deadpool? He didn’t act like it, but he was a real adult too. 

And then, the Fantastic Four showed up.

And Peter actually really liked them. It wasn’t as though he didn’t like the other superhero groups, no-- they were all fine, and he could work with them. But it was different with the Four. They worked well together, they had the same sense of humor, and in a weird way, Peter felt like they (more than anybody else) understood what he was going through. 

Meeting Johnny Storm was, no doubt, one of the best things that had happened to Peter since he had been bitten. Johnny  _ understood _ , he knew what it was like to be half the age of everybody else on that battlefield. He understood what it meant to be seventeen and afraid and confused but a _ hero _ . 

Which made it all the more heartbreaking that Peter couldn’t, wouldn’t, tell him who he was. There wasn’t even a good reason at this point, but he had never told anybody before, he had no reason to start doing it now. 

As they grew closer, Peter found himself wishing that he could pull off the mask and say: 

“I’m sixteen and I’ve been doing this for two years and I’m exhausted and I’ve seen too much and I’m scared I’ll never be enough.” And even though Johnny kept up a confident front, he could hear him saying: “I’m seventeen, and I haven’t been doing this that long but I’m already tired, and I’m scared of what’s to come and I’m stuck in my sister’s shadow.” 

But every time he saw Johnny, every time they sat on top of the statue of liberty and laughed and talked for literally hours, he could never bring himself to say anything. It had just never felt like the right time. 

Right about now, he was wishing that the had just ripped off the bandaid (or in this case, the mask) because this situation was so much worse. He was sitting maskless, and the fantastic four were staring at him. 

. . . 

They had been battling something big, something that wasn’t human. Given Peter’s usual luck: it was probably aliens. Peter had been off his game already, he was up to his eyeballs in midterms, he needed to make rent, and his aunt was bugging him about dinner, he didn’t really have the time to deal with aliens. 

But aliens had decided that they had the time to deal with him. The Fantastic Four and come in (thank god) which made the whole thing a little easier for Peter, but he was still struggling immensely. One of the aliens waved his (?) hand (?) and it felt like the air rumbled around them. Everybody who was in the path of the alien fell unconscious almost immediately. Or at least, Peter hoped they were unconscious. 

Luckily, the Four had made quick work off it. Just as they had subdued the last alien, Sue turned towards her team: “Okay, we should probably be going.” Peter nodded his thanks as they turned away and began to walk on the dilapidated sidewalk, periodically dodging the debris. Johnny had turned back to wave at Peter and had shouted: “Bye, Web-head!” just as it happened. 

One of the aliens, although he hadn’t been able to get out of his bounds, was able to send a smaller wave of energy directly towards Peter, who wasn’t watching, but was instead waving back at his friend. It had hit him right in the chest, and he immediately fell to the ground, completely unconscious. 

The four had returned to him in a matter of seconds. Sue braced his head as Reed did a glance over his covered body. 

“I can’t see any injuries, but I can’t be sure.” Sue nodded. 

“We can’t just leave him here. We’ll take him back to the Baxter Building, and we’ll decide what to do then.” Reed nodded, and the Four headed back home, Spider-Man in tow. 

Once they got back to the Baxter building, Spider-Man was carefully laid onto a coach, Reed checked for injuries but still, he found nothing. 

“It doesn’t look like anything happened to him, I think he’s just knocked out.” The other three nodded, and Sue placed a comforting hand on Johnny’s shoulder, acknowledging how scared the other boy looked. 

“He’s going to be just fine, Johnny, and he’ll be right here when he wakes up.” Reed nodding in agreement. 

“Should we be worried about head injuries? After all, Spidey hit his head pretty hard on 

the way down.” This caused both Reed and Sue to pause as they all looked down at the unconscious vigilante. 

“We should check for head injuries…” Reed trailed off. 

“...But then we’d have to remove his mask.” Sue finished for him. God, Johnny hated when they did that. 

“You can’t!” Johnny jumped in, “His identity’s really important to him, and we can’t betray his trust-- I don’t think he wants us to know.” Sue and Reed shared a look before Sue turned to face Johnny.

“Johnny, I know he probably doesn’t want us to know, but it’s important we make sure that he isn’t hurt, okay?” Johnny nodded. 

“Besides, Kid,” Reed added, “Spider-Man’s an adult, I’m sure a few people already know his identity.” Johnny nodded numbly.

“Okay.” He whispered, “I understand.” 

“You don’t have to be here,” Sue added, “When we check if you don’t want to know, it’s okay.” Deep down, something told Johnny that he should just turn away and respect Spidey’s identity. But something inside him, louder and larger, begged him to watch, just so he could finally see his best friend’s face. 

Spider-Man was literally his best friend, and he barely knew anything about him. But he knew that Spidey made him laugh. And he knew that they had similar interests and that they could talk for hours and hours without getting bored. Johnny didn’t care if Spidey was secretly fifty years old, or if he was horribly disfigured. He just wanted to finally see his best friend. 

Sue reached down and grabbed the edges of the Spider-Man mask, Spidey didn’t budge at all as she started to pull his mask up his neck. Right before she reached his chin, she paused. They all understood: they were betraying his trust and it felt wrong. 

But they all wanted to know, Ben had asked them multiple times if any of them knew who was Spider-Man was (and he had asked the Avengers, and he had even asked Daredevil, nobody seemed to know.) Sue could recall having a million conversations with Reed as they tried to figure him out:

“He must be around our age, he’s way too experienced to not be.” Reed would say.

“He’s incredible at combat, he must have some sort of formal training.” Sue would add.

“With that suit, he must be rich, right?” Reed would ask and Sue would nod. 

She reached forward and pulled his mask above his mouth. She couldn’t help but notice the lack of stubble on his face, and not in an “I shaved recently” way, but in an “I don’t grow facial hair yet” way. She looked at Reed, and could immediately tell that he was thinking the same way.   
“Oh my god, Sue, you don’t need to do it in slow motion.” Johnny moaned. 

They all chuckled at that. 

“Impatient as ever, aren’t we?” She asked, a smile in her voice. Johnny just huffed and rolled his eyes in response. 

Despite that, she did listen to him. She didn’t question it as she grabbed the mask and quickly pulled the rest of it off. 

Almost immediately, she wished she hadn’t. 

Spider-Man looked so young. He was too young to be a part of their crazy world. His chocolate brown curls were unruly and they fell in waves around his face, almost covering his eyes. His skin was creamy and smooth if anything it was a bit pale. He still had baby fat clinging to his cheeks. Asleep he looked so peacefully and he breathed quietly, wrapping his arms around him.

The Fantastic Four was silent. He was so small. Sue had no idea how she had never realized how tiny Spider-Man really was. As she looked down at him, it all started to make sense, his high pitched voice, his height, the fact he spent the most time with Johnny out of any of them. 

The others were all grappling with similar ideas as they looked down at the sleeping boy on their couch. They stared at him for almost five minutes before anybody said anything. 

“Are you-- are you going to check for those head injuries?” Johnny finally choked out. He had no idea how to feel, on one hand, it was great to know that he and Spidey were close in age, but it was terrifying to think about putting himself in his shoes. Johnny didn’t do it alone, not like Spidey did. 

Reed nodded and fell to his knees beside the kid. He quickly checked as best he could for an injury while he was still unconscious. Once he was done he announced the “all clear” to the team, but none of them moved. Ben broke the silence.

“How long has he been active?” Johnny just nodded while Reed answered. 

“About two years, we think, but there’s no way.” In a weird way, it almost sounded like a plea. Johnny had no idea how much longer they stood there, but it was just getting to the point where he thought it must’ve been getting weird. 

Suddenly, Spidey moved. It was a simple movement, he unpeeled his arms from around himself, and his eyelids began to flutter. 

Before anybody could move, or at least make it look like they hadn’t just been staring at a completely unconscious child, Spidey’s hazel eyes had opened. He blinked hard a few times, as though he was trying to comprehend what he was seeing it. Once he realized, he shot up, and both of his hands immediately went to where he expected his mask to be. 

One hand grabbed his hair, and the other patted his bare cheek as he looked at the Fantastic Four, his eyes widening in panic as he did so. Nobody seemed to know what to say, Spider-Man included. Reed broke the silence.

“The aliens… they knocked you out and uh-- we need to check for head injuries.” Spider-Man just nodded numbly, as though he was still trying to process what had happened. Sue quickly added: “If you can, we’d really appreciate it if you stayed the night,” the glanced at the other three with a glare that said: don’t look surprised, “we just want to make sure there are no surprising after-effects.” He nodded again. 

“Uh…yeah, I could do that, I just need to… call somebody.” Sue piped up before he could. 

“Oh, I could call for you, then I could explain the entire situation to your parents.” Spidey smiled sadly at her, and Johnny noted the way her motherly instincts immediately kicked in. 

“It’s okay,” Spidey smiled politely at Sue, “I’ll call. I live with my aunt,” they all glanced at each other again, “and she… she uh... she doesn’t know.” That stopped Sue dead in her tracks. She stared down at the kid. Not only was he definitely a kid, but was he even supervised? Did anybody know he was doing this? Was anybody awake at night, waiting for him to get home and making sure it was okay?

The kid grabbed his cell phone out of seemingly nowhere and texted somebody really quick. He looked up at Sue as he waited for her to say something. 

“You can borrow some of Johnny’s clothes if you want.” Johnny quickly jumped up at that, he flashed Spidey a smile, and he returned it, he seemed grateful that Johnny was there.

“Come on, Webhead,” Johnny did his best to act as though nothing had changed as he nodded towards his room. Spidey stood up, looked at him, and seemed to have a quick internalized debate with himself before he said: 

“Peter.” He said, ignoring how all four of their heads immediately snapped towards him, “My name is Peter.” Johnny smiled at that.

“Peter,” he said, he liked how light it sounded on his tongue, “Let’s go.” Peter hopped off the couch and smiled and Johnny as the two left the room, leaving the three confused adults to stare at each other. 

When Johnny and Peter returned, Peter looked much less like a superhero, and more like a teenager. Even Johnny’s clothes were a bit too big on him, once again bringing everybody’s attention back to just how small he was. The two joined them on the couch and it was only silent for a few seconds before Reed spoke.

“Peter,” he asked apprehensively, “Can I ask you a few questions-- just about you.” Peter seemed to consider that for a moment. He looked at though he was going to say no, instead he said:

“Depends on what they are.” He gave an apologetic smile and shrugged. Reed nodded. 

“How old are you?” 

“Sixteen.” He pretended to ignore how uncomfortable everybody looked at that.

“How long have you been doing this?” Peter shrugged, 

“Two-ish years? I think?” Reed nodded again, while Sue whispered a saddened, “fourteen” under her breath. 

“Your webs,” Johnny watched as Reed leaned forward in that way he always did before he started to talk about science, “are those biological? What about the stickiness?” Peter smiled more openly at that, and Johnny noticed that he seemed excited too. 

“The stickiness is, the webs come from these.” He pulled up the sleeves on the sweatshirt he was wearing to reveal small black bracelets on either side. If possible, Reed looked even more intrigued. 

“Who creates the web fluid?” Peter’s face widened into a smile, despite his attempts to hide it. 

“I do! I uh… I make during my chemistry class while my teacher lectures.” Reed’s eyes widened with surprise. 

“Really?” Peter nodded, “I would love to look at that more closely.” and Peter laughed.

Maybe this, “people knowing his identity” thing wouldn’t be so bad after all. 


	8. Day eight- Stab wound

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When Karen alerts Tony that Peter has been stabbed, he's completely unaware of what he'll find when he arrives on the scene.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! I hope y'all are having a fantastic day-- this chapter isn't really all that creative, but I hope you enjoy it anyways. Thanks for all the comments, kudos, and bookmarks, I appreciate them more than I could ever say.   
Tumblr: spiclergwen  
Chapter-specific tags: light gore, blood, big wounds.

“Okay Karen, got anything for me?” Peter asked as he swung up onto the roof of his apartment building. He squinted just a little bit in the sunset as he glanced around the top of the city. 

“There seems to be a mugger at 42nd and 15th. He appears to be both armed and dangerous.” Peter nodded as he swung off to the location Karen had pulled up. He swung towards the alley and be perched on top of one of the buildings to check out the situation before he swung down. 

The man was masked, and he was probably a good two feet taller than Peter was. He had a woman backed against the wall, and he was holding a knife to her throat, even as she whispered:

“I don’t have any money, I promise, please just let me go.” Peter had seen enough, and he quickly swung down into the alley. He hit the ground harder than he had meant too, and the man immediately looked at Peter. His eyes widened in surprise, but he quickly dropped the woman. 

She wasted no time in grabbing her purse off of the ground and as she ran out of the alley. The mugger charged towards Peter, the hand with the knife raised. He swung his hand towards Peter, but he dodged it. Peter sent a quick kick in the man’s direction, he connected with his stomach, but the man didn’t even seem to flinch. 

Again, the man charged at him, and his fist (luckily the one without the knife) connected with Peter’s masked face, throwing him a few feet back. Peter looked up and felt the eyes of his mask widen in surprise-- it wasn’t very often that Peter dealt with somebody who could knock him down. 

Karen’s voice echoed in his mask: “Given what I have been analyzed, the assailant appears to be enhanced.” Peter sighed at that, _ of course. _

He quickly regained his balance and grabbed the man’s arm, twisting it back until he dropped the knife. Peter grabbed the knife before the man could, and he quickly found himself chucking it over his shoulder, hoping that was his only weapon. 

“The man now appears to be unarmed,” Karen confirmed. Peter sent another kick towards the man, who still barely reacted. 

The fight went on for a while, this guy just wouldn’t give up. 

“Look, man,” Peter finally said as he blocked another punch, “I’ve gotta whole neighborhood to look after, can’t you just let me web you up and we can both go on our merry way?” The man didn’t answer, except with a punch to the stomach, which Peter narrowly avoided.

“Okay sure, no problem, I get it. It was a rhetorical question anyway.” Peter muttered as the man dodged Peter. 

For a moment, they circled each other, waiting for the other one to make the next move. Once the man was facing the corner of the alley, Peter struck him again, and this time he managed to hit him across the face. He hadn’t pulled his punch as much as he had meant too, so he accidentally sent the man sprawling in a garbage can. He ran up to the man, webshooters at the ready. But the man stood up quickly, and as he did so, he pulled something out of the trashcan next to him. 

Peter ignored it as he attempted to web the man’s wrists, He hit the edge, but he missed the majority of the man’s wrist as he moved. As he dodged Peter’s attack, Peter realized what he had grabbed from the trashcan. 

It was a piece of a pipe, probably thrown out by one of the near-by stories that were going under construction. It was rusty, and if Peter’s initial guess was right, it was probably about two feet long, maybe an inch wide? He wasn’t sure. 

The man held the pipe at an angle before he jabbed it in Peter’s direction like a sword. The man had aimed too high, and the top of the pipe went right over Peter’s head. He grabbed the top of it in an attempt to grab control. 

Which turned out to be a huge mistake. 

The man flipped the pipe before Peter was able to get it, and before Peter knew what was happening before he had even been able to lower his hands, the man and held the pipe horizontal, flashing a mean smile at Peter.

And then, he stabbed him. 

No, no just stab him. He fucking impaled him. Before Peter even had time to register what was happening, the man had pushed the entire rusty pipe through Peter’s abdomen. Peter stumbled backward until his back hit the wall. The man ran out of the alley as Peter collapsed against the back wall. 

Peter groaned, a little scared to look down and assess the damage. Karen was oddly silent, and vaguely Peter wondered if the pipe had hit any of her controls. 

He forced himself to look down, and almost immediately wished that he hadn’t. The rusty pipe was still visible and it was struck through him a clear line. Blood was quickly leaking out of his suit, and he found that the majority of the torso of his suit was getting covered in blood. It was a deep red, and he was seeping into the spandex of his suit. Before he could get a good look at it, he leaned over and vomited, just barely missing his suit. 

He wiped the vomit from his mouth as he stared down at his suit. Blood was still quickly leaking from his suit, and he watched as it dyed his suit a whole new shade of red. He leaned the back of his head against the wall as he sighed. His vision was spotty and he suddenly found himself really, really tired. A voice cut through his exhaustion.

“Peter? I have been trying to get your attention for the last five minutes. You seem to be injured. Would you like me to call Mr. Stark?” Peter nodded before he realized that Karen couldn’t tell. 

“Y-yeah, do that.” He felt his words slur together as he slumped further against the wall, suddenly grateful that the alleyway was empty. He closed his eyes for a minute, everything was spinning and he didn’t like it. 

Mr. Stark picked up at the start of the second ring. Peter could hear AC/DC playing in the background somewhere, but even that was hard to focus on. 

“Hey, Pete! Shouldn’t you be patrolling?” Peter furrowed his eyebrows… patrolling? Oh yeah! That’s what he was doing. He tried to pull himself in an upright position, but his adrenaline rush was wearing off quickly, and the act of moving sent such a quick and heavy pain up his stomach that he found himself groaning before he spoke.

“Woah Pete, are you good? Karen says she can’t detect anything.” Peter groaned again as the pipe shifted a bit inside him. He scrunched up his eyes again, trying to think. 

“I think…” Peter stopped as he closed his eyes, the world spinning. The seemed to be all the prompting he needed. 

“Okay kid, I’m going to come to check in on you. Where are you?” Peter was quiet for a few, precious seconds before he whispered, his words slurring together. 

“42nd n’ 15th…” Peter’s words tumbled out of his mouth and he sounded like he was going to fall asleep at any minute. He shifted a bit, and he found himself crying out in pain, it felt like a white-hot knife had been ripped through him. Subconsciously, he hard the sound of Tony getting into one of the iron man suits. 

“Okay kid, stay there. I’m coming.” 

“Okay…” Peter whispered as his eyes closed. Everything hurt. His head was pounding and his vision was fuzzy, black spots danced across his vision, and Peter could swear that the sky was spinning above him. 

He was wet, his stomach was… leaking? Peter was confused as he reached down and watched his hand get covered in the red substance that was pouring from him. He placed his hand on the rusty copper pipe that was poking out from right above his belly button. As his fingers grazed the top, he felt another cry rip from his throat as pain seared through him.

Distantly, he heard the sound of… jets, maybe? They came closer, and they got louder until they just… stopped? Peter looked up confused and was shocked to see Mr. Stark immediately jump out of the Ironman suit and come running towards him. 

“Kid?” He asked as he fell to his knees beside Peter, “what happened?” Peter gave a half-hearted attempt at a shrug, crying when even that simple movement jostled the pipe. He looked at Tony and then roughly gestured to the pipe. 

“It’s… it’s in the back too.” He mumbled. Tony looked confused as he stood up. 

“I’m going to get you upstate, okay Underoos?” I’ll have to carry you. But we’ll get you all fixed up.” Peter nodded, but Tony wasn’t entirely convinced that Peter had really heard what he was saying. He grasped Peter by both arms, and gently as he could, he hauled the kid to his feet, sighing as Peter groaned in pain. 

He couldn’t stand up on his own, and Tony just barely caught him as he stumbled into Tony’s arms. He leaned his head against Tony’s shoulder, and he immediately knew what Peter had meant by “it’s in the back too.” 

Somebody had  _ impaled _ his kid. 

With as much care as he possibly could, he got back in the suit and picked up Peter, taking extra care to not jostle the literal pipe that was sticking through his body. As he took to the sky, he called Helen Cho. 

“Tony?” she asked, confused. 

“Cho. I think you’ll need to get an operating room ready.” She didn’t say anything, but he continued.

“Spider-baby has a… well, he had a pipe sticking through his body.” On the other side of the line, he heard Cho choke on something. 

“What?” 

Tony sighed, “Yeah, it’s not looking too great.” 

By the time he had arrived back to the compound, there were already a couple of members of the medbay waiting. They grabbed Peter out of Tony’s arms, and Tony took a moment to thank whatever god may exist that Peter was somehow still awake.

Unceremoniously, they whisked Peter off to the medbay, without even so much as a glance back at Tony as they did so. He stepped out of the suit as he walked numbly to the medbay. He sat down in one of the hard, plastic waiting room chairs. Quietly, he asked Friday to note that the medbay deserved better chairs.

He would buy them later. He was too tired to do it now. 

He leaned back in his chair and sighed, his mind immediately to Peter ( _ it isn’t wandering if that’s all you’ve been thinking about, _ his brain supplied helpfully) the anxiety rising in his throat as he wondered if the kid was really going to be alright. 

He grabbed his phone and immediately found the app that linked it into Peter’s suit. He pulled it up and opened the baby monitor footage. 

Quickly he watched as the night’s events transpired for Peter. He himself had to take a break as he watched Peter get impaled to lean over a trashcan for a few moments, willing himself not to vomit. (He did anyway.) By the time he had finished, Dr. Cho was walked out of the room they must’ve set Peter up in. 

She smiled at him as she sat down across from him. He leaned forward, anxious to hear what she was going to say. Luckily, she wasted no time:   
“He’s going to be fine.” Tony let out a deep sigh at that, as the weight lifted off of his chest.

“We had to remove part of his intestine, and he’s on multiple IVs for fluids, but the should be able to leave the medbay pretty soon.” Tony nodded and thanked Cho before she continued. 

“He’s asleep, and he should be for a couple more hours, but you’re more than welcome to go see him if you want.” Tony nodded as he stood up. Thanking her again he rushed in Peter’s hotel room.

He was so small, and Peter found himself shocked once again at just how tiny Peter was. He looked down at the boy and smiled as he watched Peter breath for a few minutes, purposefully ignoring the huge bandages that covered his stomach. 

He sat down heavily in the chair next to Peter’s bed, he grabbed his hand, avoiding the IVs. He rubbed gentle shapes into Peter’s palm as he listened to the heart monitor. 

And that’s how he sat for the hours until Peter woke up, completely content to just listen to him breathe. 


	9. Day nine- Shackled

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter knows that Mr. Stark isn't coming.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, this chapter is weird and short(er) and I know that and I'm sorry. Why is this chapter weird? Well, I'm a first-year college student drowning in homework who's over 2,000 miles away from home and I really miss my mom and I'm a bit overwhelmed. 
> 
> I had a super cool idea for this chapter but I just straight up did not have the emotional energy to write it, maybe I will one day (or even for one of the days I don't have planned.) 
> 
> If you're interested in this story thread, please let me know (either here or on Tumblr) I'm debating either a) making it isn't own full-length story (like 10 ish chapters) or b) finishing up the end of this story for Whumptober day 10. 
> 
> tumblr: spiclergwen

_ Clink. Clink. Clink. _

His shackles hit each other as his body shakes. It’s like he can’t control his own body, he’s hyperventilating and he can feel tears stream down his face as his whole body tremors. Right now, there are only four things that Peter knows to be true. 

_ Clink. Clink. Clink. _

One, he has been gone for some time. 

_ Clink. Clink. Clink. _

Two, he does not know where he is. 

_Clink. Clink. Clink. __  
_ Three, he does not know the last time he had been fed in a way besides an IV. 

_ Clink. Clink. Clink. _

Four, nobody is coming for him. 

He hears the man who took him walk down the stone steps that are to the left of Peter. When he had first been kidnapped, he had tried to create a mental map of the room, he had been confident he would need it for when he escaped.

He now knows that he wasn’t going to escape. 

_ Clink. Clink. Clink. _

The stairs were to the left. Next to them, there was an antique fridge. Peter didn’t know what was in it, but it had been smelling bad for awhile. To the right there was medical equipment-- Peter didn’t know what half of it was, but he knew how it had been used. (it had  _ burned, _ and  _ seared _ , and his skin had  _ hissed. _ ) 

Clink. Clink. Clink. 

The man had made it down the stairs and he walked gently towards Peter. He leaned down in front of him, trying to keep his face neutral. He placed one hand on Peter’s cheek gently as a way to change Peter’s expectations. He hated the way he leaned into the touch almost automatically. The man chuckled at that, but for once, he did not hit him. 

Instead, he sat down on the floor across from him, crossing his legs. He didn’t look like somebody who was capable of torture. If Peter thought about it, his cinnamon brown eyes looked soft, and he smiled at Peter as a father would. 

Peter didn’t really know how to feel about that. 

“It’s okay, my boy.” The smiled at Peter as he brushed his sweaty curls out of his face, “You know that you are safe here.” Peter did not know that, but somewhere, deep in his mind, a voice like the man’s whispered: “safesafesafe.” 

“It is safe down here.” He grabbed the IV from the nearby medical stand and gently grasped Peter’s hands, pulling Peter’s arms towards him. With a type of care that Peter was no longer accustomed too, he gently inserted the IV before smiling at Peter again. 

“It is to keep you healthy,” he whispered, “it’s to keep you safe.” Peter didn’t know why, but he nodded as the man looked between Peter and IV. 

“I am so happy you aren’t fighting it anymore. I don’t like to hurt you when you don’t behave.” Peter remembered it vividly. 

_ Clink. Clink. Clink.  _

He would fight against the man as he inserted the IV into his arm. When he was strong enough he would bite and scratch and kick and hit and yell. And the man who hit him or burn him or cut him or sometimes worse. 

_ Clink. Clink. Clink. _

Peter didn’t want to think about it. He had been given so much time to think, and he didn’t really want a whole lot more of it. Once again the man reached forward to cup Peter’s cheek. He leaned forward and placed a kiss on the top of Peter’s head. 

Peter didn’t like when the man kissed him. Or touched his hair. It was all to fatherly, and this man was far from Peter’s father. The man looked at Peter as though he could hear his thoughts.

“You aren’t still thinking about your life before, are you Peter?” Peter quickly nodded “no” as he thought about the last time he had been honest. 

It had hurt so much, It felt like a dull knife had been inserted into his back and it slowly tore down his spine as he sobbed uselessly into a pillow. He couldn’t think about being saved. All he could feel was painpainpain. 

“You’re not going back to that life, son. It’s going to be better now.” The man’s voice was harder now as he roughly carded his hand through Peter’s dirty hair. Peter opened his mouth as a weak voice whispered: 

“Mr. Stark will come to get me.” The man immediately stopped running his hand through Peter’s hair. He griped the curls in his hand and used them to pull Peter’s head up until he was staring directly into his eyes. 

He was like Peter had suddenly inhaled a mouth full of cinnamon and he was choking on the air as the man refused too let his hair go. He stared down with Peter a fury that had not been there ten seconds ago and it scared him shitless.

“Mr. Stark is not coming for you.” Peter did not bother to protest. “And do you know why?” When Peter failed to say anything, he felt the man spit onto him, his saliva dripping down Peter’s dirty, sunken cheeks. 

“He isn’t coming for you because he doesn’t love you. He doesn’t care about you as I do.” Peter did nothing. 

_ Clink. Clink. Clink. _

“If he cared about you, he would have shown up _ months  _ ago, Peter-- why don’t you understand that!” The man was almost hysterical now as he gripped Peter’s hair tighter. Peter didn’t know what to say-- surely he hadn’t been here for months? Mr. Stark must’ve been looking for him, and he couldn’t be that hard to find.

_ Unless  _ whispered the same quiet voice in his head,  _ he isn’t looking for you. Because he doesn’t care about you _ . Peter tried not to sob. 

_ Maybe he doesn’t care that you’re gone.  _

As Peter started to cry, the man immediately dropped his head and resumed his position kneeling in front of Peter. He forced Peter to mee this eyes again. 

“I know it’s hard. I know you’re sad but I promise things are going to be so much better now. If you can just let go of the past it will all be okay.” Peter nodded numbly, too tired and confused to say anything else.

“Once you accept that I’m the only person who loves you, Peter, this whole thing will be so much easier.” He kissed the top of Peter’s head and suddenly, he was gone, leaving Peter with only his thoughts and the C _ link. Clink. Clink _ . Of his shackles against the cement floor. 

The time passed slowly and quickly all at once. Peter had no idea how much time had passed, but at some point, he had stopped caring. The man came and visited him every day, he was the only person that Peter ever saw. He would always kiss Peter on the head, give him his IV, and then remind him that he was the only person who would ever truly love him. 

Sometimes the man was nice. He would rub his hands through Peter’s hair and smile at him and compliment his eyes. Most of the time he was mean. He would hurt Peter, or yell at him, or remind him that nobody: not Mr. Stark, not MJ, not May, not Ned, had been looking for him. 

One day, Peter realized that he knew five things. 

_ Clink. Clink. Clink. _

One, he has been gone for some time. 

_ Clink. Clink. Clink. _

Two, he does not know where he is. 

_Clink. Clink. Clink. __  
_ Three, he does not know the last time he had been fed in a way besides an IV. 

_ Clink. Clink. Clink. _

Four, nobody is coming for him. 

_ Clink. Clink. Clink. _

Five, nobody loves him. 

Eventually, Peter found that he slept through the majority of the day. He would lean against the cement and go through what felt like long hours of unconsciousness. He did not dream. He had nothing to dream about. All he knew was the man who came to see him every day and the love (?) that he had for Peter. 

The sound of boots and yelling awoke Peter. He didn’t know what day or time it was, and he had long since stopped looking around for a clock when he woke up. It didn’t really matter, anyways.

The yelling got louder, Peter could make out any of the words in his grogginess, but the voices sound familiar. He heard what sounded like fighting and then… suddenly it all stopped. It was quiet for a moment as the dust falling from the rotting wood ceiling settled. Peter leaned his head against the wall as he wondered if he might be able to go back to sleep. Sleeping was nice. He didn't have to know anything in order to sleep. 

Suddenly, he heard the sound of footsteps coming down the stairs. It wasn’t like the sound of the man’s footsteps, those were usually soft and quiet. These footsteps were louder, they were unsteady and rushed. They imitated the sound of the  _ clink, clink, clink, _ of Peter’s shackles. 

As the feet hit the last step, Peter could hear the person taking in a deep breath. Peter wanted to turn around and see who it was, but the man always got mad when Peter did that. 

_ “Keep your head facing forward, Peter, you have no reason to look over here.”  _

The person on the other side hadn’t moved yet, so Peter didn’t either. But soon, he heard something that vaguely sounded like the opening of a suit.  _ It sounds like Mr. Stark _ , but Peter whisked that thought away quickly. 

_ Mr. Stark wasn’t coming.  _

Suddenly there was the sound of running, and before Peter comprehended what had happened, Tony Stark was kneeling on the floor in front of him, right where the man usually kneeled. 

At first, Peter didn’t say anything, he just opened his mouth before immediately closing it again. Peter had so much to say and simultaneously, he had nothing to say at all. What do you say? He wanted to yell: I’m sorry, I hate you, where have you been? Nothing came out. 

Tony grabbed Peter and pulled him into his arms. Peter did his best to wrap his arms around the other man, grateful for the loving touch, but he couldn’t. All he got was the  _ clink, clink clink,  _ of his shackles instead. Tony quickly pulled away and undid the cuffs of Peter’s hands and feet. He looked up at Peter again, as though he was trying to memorize his face, he noticed the thick tears that were streaming out of Tony’s eyes as he pulled Peter into him. 

“I’m sorry, Peter. I’m so sorry.” Peter nodded numbly and whispered, “it’s okay.” He leaned his head on Peter’s shoulder and tried to ignore the conflicting voices that were yelling in his head. 

One said: “He doesn’t love you! He isn’t sorry! He left you here for God only knows how long!” 

The other voice said: “He’s here! He’s got you! It’s going to all be okay!” 

Peter choked on air as he realized he didn’t know which one he believed. Tony pulled away from him and pushed his curls out of his face. It felt different. 

He stood up quickly as he pulled Peter up with him. He walked towards the suit and Peter followed, his hand firmly wrapped around Mr. Stark’s. He climbed back in the suit and lifted Peter into his arms. 

“Let’s go home, kid.” Peter nodded sleepily, shocked how tired he was. 

“How long was I gone?” he asked suddenly as Mr. Stark flew up the stairs and out through a window, the warm, salty breeze hitting his face. He furrowed his brow, the last thing he remembered was Christmas. 

“A long time, kid. But it’s okay-- I’ve got you.” As he fell asleep against Ironman’s chest, Peter realized that he still didn’t know if he really believed him. 


	10. Day ten- Unconscious

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tony's perspective of day nine.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can't believe that this basically means that I'm almost 1/3 of the way through! genuinely, I don't think I've ever done ten chapters of anything before, oh my. Anyways, I just couldn't get this story thread out of my head, but I still haven't decided if I'm going to make it longer, so I didn't want to add too much. Here's Tony's perspective on Chapter nine!  
Tumblr: spiclergwen

Peter Parker disappeared on New Year’s Eve. Tony knew what he was supposed to be doing: he had spent the morning with Tony, snacking and tinkering in the lab while shitty holiday movies played in the background. Then, Happy had dropped him off at his home in Queens so he could eat dinner with his aunt before he went over to Ned’s house.

Tony knew this was the plan because Peter hadn’t stopped talking about how excited he was since he had arrived at the tower that morning. 

_ That morning _ , it felt so far away and distant now. Tony had got the call sometime around 10:30 pm. He had been working in the lab when Friday alerted him.

“Boss,” she spoke just loudly enough to break him out of his work-induced trance, but quietly enough not scare him, “May Parker is calling, should I put it through?” Tony furrowed his brows at that, May had no reason to call him. Usually, they only talked when something was wrong with the Spider-Kid (or when she needed to yell at him). 

“Yeah, Fri, go ahead and put her through.” He didn’t get a response, but the next thing he heard was-- 

“Tony?” May Parker’s voice echoed through the lab, she sounded exhausted, but there was a weird urgency to her voice that Tony had never heard before, maybe even a hint of fear. Tony ignored all of that.

“May Parker! To what do I owe the pleasure?” He asked, allowing his usual snarky calmness to take over. She ignored him. 

“Have you talked to Peter? Since he left, I mean?” Tony shrugged before remembering that he couldn’t see her. 

“Nope, I haven’t seen or heard from him since.” He heard a muffled curse from May, as though she had moved the phone away from her. He felt his anxiety levels begin to rise. 

“Is everything okay over there?” He asked, forcing himself to stay calm, still, he found himself itching to pull up the kid’s location right then and there.

“I don’t know,” that caught Tony off-guard, and he immediately set down everything he was holding, he put his whole attention into listening, “He was supposed to get to Ned’s at seven, but Ned says he never came. I thought maybe he got caught up in something Spider-Man related, but his suit is still in his room.” 

“Friday, track the kid’s watch.” There was a short silence where neither Tony or May spoke, finally, it was broken by Friday. 

“Peter’s watch appears to be in the alley between 88th and Mrytle st. He does not appear to be wearing it.” Now it was Tony’s turn to curse under his breath as he began to summon a suit.

“I’ll go check out the last location of his watch, I’ll call when I find him.”

“I’ll call if he comes home or if I hear from Ned.” 

“Sounds good,” Tony was just about to end the call when he quickly added, “and May? I’m sure he’s somewhere close by. He usually is.” He heard May sniffle on the other side, but it was near silent. 

“I’m sure you’re right.” With that, Tony ended the call and stepped into his suit, happy to find that Friday had already aligned the suit with the coordinates of Peter’s last location. He took off. 

It would have been a nice night to fly, under different circumstances. The air was crisp and the sky was clear, all around Tony could hear people celebrating the incoming New Year. The suit dropped him in the alley with an unceremonious thud. 

The alley was completely empty. 

Tony searched the alley, even though it truly appeared to be empty. He had just reached the end of the alley and was about to turn back around when he heard a quiet beeping noise. He whipped back around to see Peter’s watch on the ground near a dumpster, a neat and tiny piece of paper folded next to it. He grabbed them both.

First, he looked at the watch. It looked to still be in good condition, everything looked normal except for the band, one side of which and clearly been broken, as though it was ripped off of him. Tony sighed, knowing that it wasn’t a very good sign. 

Next, he looked at the piece of paper. It was way to nice and neatly folded to be just another piece of trash. As he unfolded it, he felt his heart sink to the bottom of his chest as he saw it. 

Scrolled across the top of the paper, in neat handwriting, it read: “Dear Stark…” With fumbling hands, Tony unfolded the paper and gently as he could. It was the size of a regular size piece of copier paper, the words on the paper took up nearly half a page. Somewhere, his mind was registering that he needed to read it. At first, his eyes just scanned the words, not absorbing a single thing that it said. 

Once he was finally able to read it, he felt his breath hitch as he realized just what the letter said. 

Dear Stark, 

Yes, I have your “intern,” but don’t worry, I don’t plan to hurt him. I have been watching him for quite some time. I always wondered how a teenage boy could be both a genius and Spider-Man. I just need to see how his brain works, and then I will most likely give him back. 

\- MW

  
  
  
  
  


Tony felt the letter shaking in his hands as he clamored back in his suit. This was bad. This was really, really, really bad. Somebody knew Peter was Spider-Man and worse? That somebody had Peter. 

Tony barely remembers arriving back at the tower, he quickly sent Happy to go get May, “have her pack a bag.” He had yelled over his shoulder as Happy had left his lab. 

Who knows what else this man knew? Who else in Peter’s life he would go after. Tony quickly got to work, he tested the paper for fingerprints. 

There were none. 

He tried no to get too discouraged as he quickly ran the letter through Friday’s databases, hoping that she would be able to recognize the letter’s handwriting. 

Nothing. 

Before he could think of another thing to try, May Parker was bursting into his lab. They looked at each other for a moment, and despite his attempt at a poker face, Tony knew his face gave away everything.

“He’s gone, isn’t he?” May sounded like she was holding back tears when Tony didn’t immediately correct her. He picked up the letter off the table and walked over to her. 

“He’s not gone forever, May-- I’ll find him.” He handed her the letter. She read over it quickly, and then she read over it again as she looked up at him.

“What’s going to happen?” Tony didn’t know how to answer that, but he put on the bravest voice he could. 

“Nothing’s going to happen to him. We’ll get him back as soon as we can.” May nodded. 

“You have a lead?” Tony shook his head no as he tried to ignore the hope that drained from her eyes.

“But I’ll have one soon. I promise.” After that, they went their separate ways as May headed up to one of their many guest bedrooms. 

Tony continued to think of every possible lead he could.

Every. Single. One. A. Dead. End. 

During Tony’s junior year at MIT, he had been so drunk on New Year’s Eve that he ended up getting in a fistfight with one of the hockey players over which of the Halloween cereals was the best (the answer was Boo-Berry), and he had been hit so hard he couldn’t remember what his name was when the woke up the next morning. 

Tony swore that was the worst New Year’s Eve of all time. He was wrong. 

This one was so much worse. 

Time passed, and Tony found himself less and less confident that he was going to find his kid. Eventually, they had to let May go back to her apartment and her real life, but Tony still spent an hour on the phone with her daily, trying to convince her that they were getting closer to finding Peter. 

It didn’t feel like they were. 

The winter turned into the spring, and there was still no sign of Peter Parker. The media had officially decided that Spider-Man was dead. Midtown really wanted to see a doctor’s note explaining why Peter had been out for literal months. 

There wasn’t even a single lead. Whoever had taken Peter, had really covered all their tracks. 

Tony had never once questioned if Peter was alive, call it some sort of parental intuition (Pepper did), but Tony knew deep in his heart that Peter was alive, he just didn’t have any clue if the kid was okay. 

Tony figured it out in late May, almost early June. He was sitting at his workbench, having just had another long phone call with May. He wouldn’t lie to her, but being honest with his lack of progress was getting harder and harder. He was staring down at Peter’s watch, flipping it between his hands. 

He had looked at the watch countless times before, it had never yielded any information before, but Tony hopped that this time would be different. He flipped the watch over, where he knew the control panel was, and that’s when he saw it, the back was loose. 

He quickly opened up the back of the watch, and his mouth dropped open. Inside the watch, sitting on top of the controls, was a tiny little piece of fingernail. Tony quickly shoved his hands in a pair of gloves and grabbed a pair of tweezers, he quickly set to finding the DNA. It was quiet for a moment, and then Friday’s soft voice rang out. 

“The test has been completed, boss. Would you like to hear the results?” Tony felt all the air rush out of his lungs as he realized: 

This could be it. 

“Yeah.” His voice was quiet and shaky, but Friday complied. 

“The fingernail fragment appears to belong to Mr. Parker; however, there are bits of DNA contained under the fingernails that do not appear to belong to Mr. Parker.” Tony felt himself holding is breath. 

“They appear to belong to Miles Warren.” Tony could’ve collapsed. 

Miles Warren. 

Tony sat down heavily in his chair as tears sprang to his eyes. He began to piece the story together:

Peter must’ve been followed into the back alley or something, a fight ensued and Peter got the man’s DNA stuck into his fingernails. Peter always bit his nails, so there were always little bits hanging off the ends. Using his super strength, it wouldn’t have been all the difficult for Peter to pull off the back of the watch…

Peter had been telling him where he was all along. 

Tony quickly grabbed his phone, and he was halfway to calling May Parker when he set the phone down again. He couldn’t get her hopes up, not yet. He googled Miles Warren, and he was able to find an address near Coney Island. He barely thought about his actions as he suited up. 

The fly to Coney Island wasn’t more than twenty minutes long, but it felt like an eternity as his mind was consumed with thoughts of Peter. Eventually, his suit left him in front of a shockingly suburban home near the beach. He marched up to the door, and he knew it was irrational, but he didn’t even bother with knocking as he blew open the door. 

He walked into a small kitchen, it wasn’t updated or particularly fancy, but it was clean. Tony’s eyes immediately found the man sitting at the deep wood kitchen table. He had just set down a cup of still-warm coffee, and he was staring at Tony in surprise. 

Suddenly, Tony was very concerned that he had the wrong house. He didn’t show it. 

“Miles Warren.” He stated, and he watched carefully as the realization flashed across the man’s face. Tony knew it immediately: he had his guy. The man stood up and scrambled back against the wall as Tony approached him. 

“Where the fuck is my son.” The words slipped out before Tony could stop them-- he had one hand raised, ready to fire the second he needed too. The other man looked at Tony. 

“He won’t go with you.” Tony rolled his eyes behind his mask. 

“Really, the serum that tainted his powers wore off months ago, he’s never tried to escape. He won’t leave.” That may be true, but Tony found it incredibly hard to believe. He said nothing as he faced the man again. 

“Where. Is. he?” He asked again as he approached the man. 

“You abandoned him! It took you months to get here, I doubt Peter wants to see you.” Suddenly, Tony had the man by the front of the shirt as he lifted him up. 

“Don’t say his name.” The Man coward as best he could while being raised multiple feet in the air. “You took him from me. Now I will ask you one more time: What. have. You. done. With. my. Son?” The Man looked at Tony, and he was pleased to see the fear in his eyes. 

“Please don’t hurt me.” The other man begged. 

“I won’t,” Tony promised, “just tell me where Peter is.” The man finally nodded. 

“He’s in the basement.” Tony nodded once, before quickly knocking the man out. He dropped him on the floor and quicked him once for good measure. 

“I can’t believe he thought I wouldn’t hurt him,” Tony mumbled as he made his way to the basement door. He tore the door off of its hinges and found himself staring down the stone steps into the darkness. He quickly descended the steps and he stopped at the bottom. Frozen. 

He noticed the disgusting smell coming from the vintage fridge, and he saw the medical supplies on the other end of the room, but only one thing held his attention.

Peter sat, shackled to the fucking wall. He was staring straight ahead, and if he heard Tony enter, he didn’t acknowledge it. Tony knew it was stupid to get out of the suit, with the man who did this just barely unconscious upstairs, but he didn’t care. 

He stumbled towards Peter until he was leaning in front of him. He felt his heart stop: Peter was covered in bruises, his hair was dirty and sweaty and he was covered in scars that Tony had never seen before. But he was alive. 

Quickly, he pulled Peter into his arms, wincing as the kid tried to hug him, but he was completely incapacitated by the shackles. Tony quickly unshackled him and stared at his face, ignoring the tears streaming down his cheeks, he was just so happy to see the kid alive. 

“I’m sorry, Peter, I’m so sorry.” Peter began to sob into his chest and the sound sent another lancet of pain through Tony’s chest. The logical part of Tony’s brain kicked in and pulled him to his feet, he pulled Peter with him and together they stumbled towards the Ironman suit. Tony never once let go of Peter. He got into the suit and pulled Peter into his arms, bridal style.

“Let’s go home, Pete.” Peter just nodded tiredly as he rested his head against the armor. Tony flew up the stairs and threw a window, noting that the man was still knocked ou. 

“How long was I gone?” Peter asked. Tony sighed. 

“A long time kid. But it’s okay, I’ve got you.” Tony sent Happy a message to go collect May as he stared down at the sleeping kid in his arms. 

It was going to be okay. He would make sure of it. 


	11. Day eleven- Stitches

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter's job is to give Tony gray hairs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was a fast one, it's also pretty fluffy. For reference: assume that Peter's scars don't fade, even after the spider-bite. Also, I really love writing pre-Tony Stark Peter, I think there's just something so raw and desperate about how alone he was, and I don't think this is the last time I'm going to write him in the time period this month, I just think it's really fun. 
> 
> This is definitely fluffier, but after the last two days-- we all deserve some fluff. 
> 
> I wrote this in like 1.5 hours (most these pieces take up a good 2-3 hours a day) so there will probably be more mistakes than normal, oops.  
As always, let me know what you think!  
Tumblr: spiclergwen

Peter had only been spider-man for a couple of months. The death of his uncle was still fresh on his mind every evening as he donned the red and blue sweatsuit that he had found in the dumpster behind the salvation army. He wasn’t very good yet, he’d admit that, but at least trying to help people felt so much better than just sitting around and doing nothing while evil things happened all over the world.

Happiness wasn’t quite a word Peter could use to describe where he was at that point in his life, with grief and pain still weighing heavily on his mind (Flash’s voice taunted him: “Don’t get close to Parker,” he had stage whispered at lunch, “if you do-- you’ll die.”) but when Peter was able to help somebody? That’s when he could feel little flashes of joy again. 

The scariest part of being Spider-Man was the loneliness. In a weird, fucked up way Peter felt like he deserved it. If everybody around him really did die, then he had no desire to bring anybody else into the mess that was his life. So he kept Spider-Man a secret. The loneliness hurt, sure, and he frequently had to almost physically restrain himself from gushing to Ned at lunch, but it was better this way. 

When Peter got hurt it was a different story. It was rare that anything happened outside of a few bruises, maybe a sprain or two. But today was different. 

There had been a mugger threatening a middle-aged man in the alley near Delmar’s and as Peter dropped quietly into the alley behind the man, the whole situation was way too familiar for Peter’s liking. The similarity of it all made Peter’s arms shake as he ran, throwing himself between the mugger and the man. 

Quickly, he pushed the man out of the way, throwing a “go, run!” over his shoulder as he blocked the first punch from the mugger. The man said nothing, but he dashed away from the alley as Peter had asked. Spider-Man turned his full attention back to the mugger as he dodged another punch. 

The man he was trying to mug may have been gone, but the assailant was _mad_, at Peter probably, and he continued to throw punches as Peter tried to web him up. He got close a couple of times but was never able to be in the exact right position to web him probably. Suddenly, his whole body was screaming at him: ** _danger, danger, DANGER. _ **

He still didn’t know what to think about this new-found sixth sense. 

He listened, and quickly dodged to the right, just in the time to feel a sharp knife graze across his abdomen. He tried to not think about the wound as he realized that he was finally in the right position to act. 

Raising his fingers to his webshooters, it pressed the button, almost giddy as the man dropped his knife in surprise. Peter kicked the knife away as soon as he could, as he shot another web that effectively bound the man’s hands together. He aimed a kick to the man’s chest, which sent him spiraling against the wall. Peter almost emptied his can of web fluid as he secured the man to the wall. 

He pointed his webshooters towards the top of a nearby building, and he relaxed as he felt himself fly through the air. Once his feet were securely planted on the ground of the building, he pulled out his cracked cellphone and called the anonymous police tips line. 

“Um… yes hello,” Peter found himself deepening his voice as he spoke on the phone, “There has been a mugger who appears to be webbed to the wall outside of Delmar’s sandwich shop.” He hung up and began to swing back towards his apartment, smiling as he heard the sirens in the background.

He swung through his window, and gratefully remembered that Aunt May was working the nightshift. He changed out of his suit, he was suddenly reminded of the wound on his stomach as the drying blood stuck to the sweaty fabric as he pulled it away from him. He looked down at it. It didn’t appear to be all that deep, and it was only a few inches long. He pulled on a new pair of pants and walked to the bathroom.

He quickly cleaned out the wound, he washed it out with water and then cleaned it out with peroxide, hissing at the stinging sensation. The wound was still sluggishly bleeding, and Peter found himself pausing before he placed a bandage on it. As fast as he could manage without aggravating the cut, he headed back into his room. He grabbed his laptop and opened up and incognito tab as he typed in his search. 

_ How do you know if a cut needs stitches? _

As he scrolled through the first couple of results, he found himself incredibly grateful for WebMD. He read the article, his eyes glued to one particular line: “Is more than a half-inch long.” 

Fuck. 

Peter stared back down at the scratch. It wasn’t very deep, but it was definitely more than a half-inch long. He headed back into his bathroom, grateful that his aunt kept such a large first aid kit. 

When he had been younger, Aunt May had given him stitches after he had fallen playing on the swings with Ned. Her and Uncle Ben didn’t want to pay for the hospital trip, so she patched him while he sat on the bathroom counter. 

Even though she wasn’t home, Peter found himself locking the bathroom as he perched himself on the closed toilet lid, he had the needle in one hand, and the sutures in the other as he took a couple of calming deep breaths. 

He was a superhero, he could totally give himself a few stitches. 

He exhaled as he placed the first stitch in his skin. He felt himself hiss in pain and the contact. He shut his eyes, he wasn’t really expecting it to hurt this much. But he moved on, as he placed another, tears escaping his eyes.

All in all, he gave himself six stitches, and he wasn’t entirely confident that he had done it right. 

It was a practice that became common-place after that. Sometimes Peter would scratch, or lightly stabbed, and he had become pretty good at putting himself back together. His technique got better, and even though it still hurt, he had become familiar with the pain usually associated with it. 

Despite his desperate attempts the first time, there was still a long scar on his torso from where he had messily stitched himself up after he fought the mugger in the alley. It didn’t really bother Peter, after all: Superheroing scars were kind of cool, even if he couldn’t tell anybody where it came from. 

It had become such a normal occurrence that Peter didn’t think twice about it, and he definitely didn’t think all that much about the scar. 

. . .

Tony had been working peacefully in his lab, he was fiddling with his right gauntlet, and as he screwed in the last part, Friday’s soft voice interrupted him. 

“Boss…” Tony sighed loudly. 

“I thought I was not to be disturbed, Fri.” If an AI could roll their eyes, Tony was pretty sure Friday would. 

“It’s Peter, boss.” All the frustration and annoyance immediately melted from Tony’s frame as he sat down what he was working on. 

“What’s going on with him?” God, when did he start to sound like such a dad? 

“Karen says his suit’s been compromised. It appears he has about a four-inch-long cut on his chest-- it’s not fatal, but medical attention is necessary.” Tony sighed. 

“Call him, Fri, force it through if you have too.” 

She didn’t have too.

“Hi, Mr. Stark! What’s up?” Peter sounded as cheerful as ever, and he definitely didn’t sound like he was wounded. Tony wondered if this was the first time Peter had been able to hide an injury behind a cheerful voice. He didn’t want to think about it. 

“Hey kid, can you run by the tower, I have a quick upgrade for the suit.” That wasn’t technically a lie, he did have an update, but he knew Peter wouldn’t come if he gave the real reason. 

“Oh… uh… sure. I’ll just swing home and then bring it by.” Tony could’ve laughed out loud, apparently, they were playing _ that _ game. 

“The tracker says you’re only a block from the tower, just come here first.” He swore he could hear Peter sigh on the other end of the line. 

“Okay. I’ll be there in a few.” Tony smiled. 

“Alright kid, I’ll leave a window in the lab open for you.” He turned back to what he was doing as he added, “Friday. End call.” He cleared off his workbench and started to look for his first aid kit, he wondered if he would need to call Happy, hopefully, the kid wouldn’t need stitches. 

He had just located his kit when Peter swung through the window. The second Peter hit the floor, the window slowly began to close behind him. Tony turned around as Peter straightened back up. If the wound wasn’t almost so close to the center of the suit, Tony might not have noticed the dark crimson stains the surrounded the top. He patted the top of the workbench. 

“Hop up kid, let me look at that cut.” Peter sighed loudly. 

“It’s fine, Mr. Stark, it just looks really bad. It’ll be all good once it gets a bandaid.” Tony rolled his eyes, but Peter ignored it. 

“What update does the suit need.” Tony laughed to himself. 

“It needs to be restitched, obviously.” Peter begrudgingly walked over to the workbench, hitting the spider emblem as he did so. 

“Karen’s a snitch.” He unhappily informed his mentor, he laughed at him.

“Karen’s doing her job.” He looked at the cut, Peter was right, it would probably need one or two stitches and it would be all good to go. But something else caught his eye: a long scar, about the length of Tony’s hand, that jaggedly ran across Peter’s side. 

Tony grabbed the peroxide out of the first aid kit and slowly he began to clean up the wound. As he did so, he tried to make small talk (or, more accurately: his version of it). 

“So kid, how’d you get that gnarly scar.” Peter looked down at it in confusion, as though he was only just remembering that it was there. He eyed it tiredly before speaking.

“Oh! I got a cut when I was new to this whole thing.” Tony eyed it skeptically. 

“Whoever did those stitches had absolutely no idea what they were doing.” He meant it as an off-handed comment, a way to show the kid that he didn’t really believe him, but he didn’t miss Peter’s nervous laugh. 

“Okay well, in my defense: I had never given myself stitches before.” Tony stopped dead in his tracks as he stepped away from Peter.

“You did not do that.” Peter shrugged. 

“Oh my god, Peter. You can’t give yourself stitches.” Peter shrugged again. 

“I had too, besides, I’ve gotten pretty good at it.” Tony closed his eyes as the entirety of that statement sunk in. 

“Okay, we’re going to put a pin in the second part of that for a minute, why didn’t you come to me, or go to May or maybe do anything other than giving yourself stitches.” Peter looked away from him, and Tony couldn’t tell if it was because of embarrassment or shame. 

“We hadn’t met yet,” Peter stated calmly, “and uh… nobody knew... I was kinda my only option.” Tony simply nodded, not trusting himself to think. 

He had almost forgotten that the kid had done this for almost six months before Tony had met him. That six months had always been a distant memory, full of grainy youtube videos and fleeting thoughts about the future of the Avengers. He had never realized that during those six months, the kid had been alone. No tracker, no supervision, nobody to talk too. 

_ Nobody to help him. _

Tony suddenly found himself incredibly grateful that Peter had only needed a few stitches. 

In real-time, he placed a bandaid on the cut, it was almost healed anyways. He found himself thinking about the second thing Peter had said: “I’ve gotten pretty good at it.” He looked up at Peter again.

“Peter, please tell me you don’t give yourself stitches anymore.” Peter at least had the decency to look a little sheepish. 

“I’m pretty good at it now!” He added cheerfully. Tony stared at Peter as he slid off of the workbench, he refitted his suit and he grabbed his mask. Tony stopped him. 

“Hey, Underoos?” Peter turned around to look at him. 

“Yeah?” 

“Next time you need stitches, come to the tower. I don’t care if you’re ‘good at it.’” Peter smiled at his mentor and nodded as the window opened up. He retightened his mask and gave Tony a thumbs up. 

“Will do, Mr. Stark!” His infectious energy was back, “I’ll catch you later!” And with that, he was gone, swing away from the tower. 

Tony shook his head foundly. 

“It’s like his life mission is to give me gray hairs, I swear.” He whispered to nobody in particular as he stared at space Peter had been occupying minutes ago. 

Peter Parker always found new ways to surprise him.


	12. Day twelve- "Don't move"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Avengers don't know what to do about the unconscious vigilante in their medbay.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey! This was meant to be shorter, but it's actually the longest one so far (its almost 3,000 words, and if I wasn't exhausted it would have been more). There are really only two takeaways from this fic: 1) I love stabbing Peter anywhere in the torso region and 2) I really love a good identity reveal. 
> 
> In this version, Peter doesn't no any of the avengers, and AOU and CW never happened.
> 
> Also just a note, whenever I write about Peter in a context where he doesn't know Tony yet, just assume he's wearing the hoco suit, but without Karen. 
> 
> Tumblr: spiclergwen

Honestly, Peter did his absolute best to avoid crossing paths with the Avengers. He figured, if he stayed out of their way, they would do their best to pretend that they had no idea he even existed. It was better off this way, Peter was just a friendly neighborhood Spider-Man, and he fully intended for it to stay that way.

The Avengers seemed to have a similar plan, he never seemed to run into them for long, but every time he did, they would exchange curt nods and then go back to minding their own business. They stayed in their lane, and Peter stayed in his. 

That is until some aliens decided to attack the city. Again. If Peter was completely honest, this whole “alien invasion” storyline was getting pretty boring, it seemed like Aliens were ALWAYS attacking the city, and Peter was tired of it-- at least this time it wasn’t a school night. 

Peter swung down to Lexington Avenue, where he could hear the aliens. He swung up onto a nearby building so he could assess the situation before he dove in. He looked around, trying to squint through the wreckage that was already accumulating. He saw a flash of red and gold across the sky. 

Great, the Avengers were here. 

Technically, it was great in a way: dealing with aliens was much more up their alley than it was Peter’s, and he did sort of appreciate that they would be around to handle the situation. But Peter had a hard and fast rule about avoiding them whenever possible, and he wasn’t quite ready for that to be broken yet. He stayed on the roof for a few more minutes, debating whether or not he needed to get involved at all. 

A blast from what appeared to be some sort of alien weaponry shot directly through the building to Peter’s right, completely crumpling it. As the building fell, Peter realized that Avengers, or not, he had to get involved.

Quickly, he jumped down from the rooftop to survey the damage. He saw a woman peeking out of the rubble and he quickly moved to save her. Once he had safely pulled her out, he began looking around for more people.  _ Maybe _ , he thought,  _ The Avengers can deal with the real threat, and I can focus on helping people.  _

He pulled four more people out of the rubble, grateful that he had been able to work completely uninterrupted. He looked down the street and cringed as the aliens were having no problem advancing-- but where to he wasn’t sure. As the aliens and their tech continued to make a mess wherever it went, Peter suddenly realized that maybe The Avengers weren’t as apt to handle this as he had initially thought. 

Suddenly, he could hear somebody approaching him. He thought about turning around, but his Spidey Sense wasn’t yelling “ **Danger!** ” quite yet, so he ignored it in favor of pulling another person out of the rubble. The person continued to approach him and suddenly he heard a shockingly familiar voice behind him. 

“Spider-Man?” Peter almost dropped one of the steel beams he was holdings directly onto his foot as he heard the deep, rumbling voice of Captain America behind him. He dropped the beam onto a pile of rubble he was sure was human-free before he turned around. 

Captain America looked like he had been through it. His suit was torn and ripped in places, and he had a couple of cuts across his face and chest that were sluggishly bleeding, along with a series of bruises that were covering most of where his armor wasn’t. Peter nodded to the Captain, as a way to make it clear that he had heard him. 

“Can you help us down the street? We need someone else who can get up high.” Peter nodded as he immediately swung to the nearest building. He building hopped for a while until he could see where the battle was taking place. He perched himself on top of one of the tallest buildings as he looked down: it wasn’t very good. 

There were so many aliens, they were crawling everywhere Peter could see. On the bright side: very few of them appeared to be armed with the type of gun that had knocked down the building Peter had been pulling people out of. 

From the top, it was easier to see the problem: the aliens all seemed to be completely indestructible. Their skin was made of something thick and metal looking, and nothing could seem to break it. From what Peter could see, there seemed to be tiny sunshine-yellow spots on their heads, that stood out from the silver of the skin. Distantly, he heard the sound of Ironman grow closer and closer and then…

Metal boots hit the ground not far from where Peter was crouched. He turned around, only to confirm that it was, in fact, Tony Stark. The man walked up behind him and crouched next to him. He looked at Peter and then back down at the aliens. 

“Those yellow spots seem to be the most fragile,” Ironman told Peter without preamble, “If we could find a way to attack them from the top that would be our best bet,” Peter said nothing as he continued to observe the aliens. He watched as a civilian tried to push one away, her pale hand outstretched towards the alien. The alien ran into her hand, and… stopped moving completely. 

“Spider-Man? Are you listening?” Tony Stark sounded annoyed with him, which Peter guessed he probably was. How many people refuse to listen and acknowledge Tony Stark? 

“Look there,” Peter pointed towards the woman who opened her eyes just wide enough to see that the alien at stopped, “It looks like they completely stop working when their line of sight is blocked.” He could hear Ironman nod.

“So if we just had a way to block off their eyesight…” Peter’s head shot up immediately, the action was swift enough that it completely cut Tony off. 

“I could probably use my webs to blind them if you guys were ready to take them out.” Tony nodded, and then he turned to face Peter fully.

“I’ll get my team ready to go, you start blinding some aliens.” Peter nodded quickly as he jumped down from the building. He heard Tony confirm the plan in his comms link before he immediately added: “yes, I know we’re taking advice from the vigilante we don’t know, you got any better ideas?” 

Up close, Peter could better see the types of weapons. Some were the “usual”: ray guns, knives, the big scary thing he had seen earlier. There was also some sort of spear, that started long and then about six inches down had two other spikes pointing out of it, like some sort of updated trident. Peter got to work quickly: he quickly found that if he moved quickly enough, he could blind one whole row of aliens in a single run. 

The Avengers followed his lead perfectly, every time he would finish a row, there would be Captain America, or Hawkeye, or Black Widow at the ready to take them out. Peter vaguely entertained the idea that they made a really good team. 

Eventually, he hit what appeared to be the front line of aliens, and like the others: he was able to take them down pretty quickly so long as he moved fast enough. He had just blinded what he thought to be the last one when suddenly he felt the buzzing up in down his spine: 

** _Danger, Danger, DANGER._ **

His Spidey-sense had alerted him one second too late. Suddenly, he felt a heavy stabbing sensation in his back. It felt like somebody had lit 16 dull butter knife on fire and shoved them through him.

No, scratch that: it felt like some random aliens invading his city (for the thousandth time) had weird improved pitchforks, and they had taken it upon themselves to shove one of these torture devices right through Peter’s back. 

Just as soon as Peter realized what had happened, it stopped. He staggered forward and fell to his knees. He planted his palms firmly on his thighs as he steadied himself. Somewhere, he registered a voice that sounded like Hawkeye yelling: 

“Spider-Man?” He heard the sound of running, coupled with the sound of the Ironman suit and he looked up through blurry vision to see that all the Avengers were running towards him. He noticed that Captain America, even at a distance, looked concerned. Before Peter could even put a hand up to shoo them away, he felt something like the rising of bile in his throat. He pulled his mask up to his nose just in time for an odd mixture of blood and bile to come rising out of his throat. 

He felt Hawkeye bend down next to him and brace his neck. He leaned behind Peter to assess the damage and Peter couldn’t miss the sound of the quiet hiss he gave. Soon, the other Avengers were surrounding Peter, and while he could hear them speaking, it was incredibly difficult to comprehend anything they were saying to him. It wasn’t until he heard the words: 

“We can take him back to the tower, have the medical staff make sure the wound isn’t fatal.” that he started to listen. Ironman continued,

“That cool with you, Spider-Man.” Peter felt himself nod briefly. Going to Avenger’s Tower, and dealing with The Avengers was truly the last thing Peter wanted to do, but he realized pretty quickly that he had no other choice, it wasn’t like this was a medical problem he could solve on his own. 

“Alright,” it was the voice of Black Widow now, “We’ll get you to the jet,” She reached down to help him up, and then Peter felt her guide him into the quinjet.

_ Where the hell had that come from?  _

He managed to lay down on his stomach across a row of seats, and he noticed how quickly Natasha sat next to him. He could barely see her, but he could feel her looking down at him. 

“Ya’ know,” she said with an air of faux-casualness, “this whole thing would be easier if you would take off that mask, we could monitor your breathing, make sure you don't pass out on us.” Peter was able to quickly say: “no it’s fine, I’m good.” But he realized it wasn’t a suggestion as she reached for his mask. As soon as her hands touched his face, he found himself jerking so violently he almost fell out of his seat. 

“Woah-- don’t move like that!” She spoke again, as though she was trying to calm a scared animal. (Peter figured he sort of was a scared animal), “We don’t have to move the mask.” Peter wanted to say something, but the act of breathing was so painful that he wasn’t sure he could completely trust himself to speak. 

When they arrived at the Tower, it was Captain America who helped him to the medbay, he quickly explained the situation to Helen, who almost immediately had an OR ready to go. Steve waited for them to wheel the kid away before rejoining the rest of the team in the common area. 

The team knew they needed to debrief the mission, talk about the alien invasion and worry about what it meant, but they all found themselves completely preoccupied with the unconscious vigilante in their Medbay. 

“You guys agree that it’s weird that he’s so secretive about his personality, right? Like what did he think we were going to do?” Clint asked the room. 

“Maybe he has a reason to not be unmasked, who knows?” Bruce supplied from the other side of the couch. 

“It is sort of weird, but I would guess that he has some sort of job or family to protect. Not everybody’s a full-time hero living in a high-security tower.” Natasha added, shrugging, “I do sort of wish we knew who he was, though.” 

“I could run his fingerprints through S.H.I.E.L.D,” Tony said as he nursed a cup of coffee. Natasha looked immediately intrigued at that, but Steve shut it down almost immediately. 

“He’s put his trust in us long enough for us to get him medical attention, I don’t think we should betray that.” The team sighed, knowing that he was right.

“Okay, spoilsport,” Tony muttered under his breath. 

The team sat in silence after that, occasionally commenting on Spider-Man’s allusive identity. The good mood was almost completely ruined as Friday announced to the room. 

“Boss, Helen Cho is about to enter the common room, she does not appear to be very pleased.” Before anybody could even react, the door to the common room flung open. 

“Not pleased” was the understatement of the century. Helen Cho looked ready to completely murder every single one of the Avengers as she made her way into the common space. For a moment, she just stared at all of them, fixing them with a glare that made them all shudder. Her arms were crossed tightly over her chest and her face was red. If Tony looked closely, it almost looked like she had tears in her eyes. 

“Next time you all bring a minor into my medbay, I want parental consent. Or at least some form of warning, I swear.” 

The room fell silent as the team glanced around at each other. 

Minor? 

It was Tony that regained his composure the fastest: “What do you mean by a  _ minor _ ?” He tried to hide the subtle fear he could feel leaking into his voice. 

“We had to take the mask off,” Helen finally said, and Tony watched as she tried to sneakily wipe the tears from her eyes, “just to adjust the oxygen mask, we were never going to check out his name or age, but we took it off and he just… looked way too young, so I had Friday run a quick scan and…” She paused and pulled in a shaky breath, the Avengers all glanced around at each other, similar looks of fear on their faces as she continued.

“And he’s fourteen.” 

The room fell silent for only a second longer before it exploded. Natasha stood up almost wordlessly and turned to face one of the large windows that overlooked the city. Bruce looked to be in complete disbelief and Clint had his head in his hands. Tony and Steve were maintaining horrified eye-contact with each other as the realization set in. 

“You must’ve seen the wrong name.” Bruce finally spoke, a tinge of hopelessness lacing his tone. 

“I assure you, it was right.” They all looked at each other again, before Tony spoke. 

“Is he awake? Can we go see the Spider-Kid?” Helen nodded. 

“He’s awake.” 

“You don’t need to come to him.” Everybody whipped around to see Spider-Man standing in the doorway to the common room, hospital pants tied tight around his waist, and multiple large white bandages wrapped around his chest. His mask was off, and he had it clasped in one hand. He shrugged with the mask in hand as he approached the team. 

“I was going to wear it but… it seemed too late for that.” He nodded towards Helen as he looked up at the team. Helen was right about that: he looked way too young. His brown curls were tousled and almost fell into his eyes. Her hazel eyes were large, and they grew larger as his eyes darted around the room. He still had plenty of baby fat on his cheeks and his jawline was astoundingly free of stubble. 

“I came to see if anybody had grabbed my phone.” He shrugged, and Tony could immediately tell that the nonchalant nature of his voice was some sort of coping mechanism. Steve shot up out of his seat. 

“I’ll go grab it, sit down son.” Spider-Man looked like he was going to protest, but one pointed look from Cho and he immediately sat down. Steve was back before the kid was settled, and he quickly handed him his phone. The kid immediately opened and dialed a number. The person on the other side seemed to pick up on the first ring.

“H-hey Aunt May!” Everybody seemed taken aback by how suddenly cheerful the kid had made himself sound, “It’s Peter…” He trailed off as the other person said something to him. 

“Yeah, I saw it on the news, Pretty scary right?” 

“No, don’t worry, I wasn’t anywhere near the aliens, I was at Ned’s house through all of it.” Helen wandered over to the kid-- Peter, and tapped him on the shoulder. The team watched as she very clearly told him that wanted to hold him overnight for observations. He nodded.

“Aunt May, is it okay if I spend the night at Ned’s? A couple of members of the decathlon team are coming over to practice and it’ll probably be easier if I just stay over here.”

“Awesome! You’re the best of May, I’ll see you tomorrow! Yeah, I love you too.” He hung up and the room descended into silence. Peter shifted awkwardly as he realized all eyes were on him. 

“Decathlon?” Tony questioned, and they watched as Peter blushed. 

“We have nationals in a few weeks, so it was the most believable option.” Tony chuckled at that before looking at the team. They seemed to have a sort of silent conversation before Tony turned back to the kid. 

“Peter-- have you ever had Shawarma?”


	13. Day thirteen- Adrenaline

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 3 times Tony realized Peter completely depersonalizes and the one time he asks him about it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! I was going to do this with just one story, but I'm super tired (and I was watching "After" with friends, which is totally awful so I recommend it) and I didn't want to construct one full-blown story, so here are 4 mini ones. The inspiration was there for this story, but sadly the words weren't, so I actually really struggled with this one, but that's fine, it be like that sometimes.
> 
> I think the real take away is: I love writing long, complicated, emotional dialogue and having Tony tuck Peter into bed. 
> 
> Tumblr: spiclergwen

**I. **

It had first dawned on Tony before he had even taken the kid to Germany: Peter Parker and Spider-Man were two complete and total opposites. Spider-Man was sarcastic, bold, and, Tony figured if he was some sort of mugger in a back alley: Spider-Man would be pretty damn scary too. Spider-Man moved quick, he was in and out of a situation before most people would even be able to tell what was wrong. 

Tony was immediately blown away by just how damn quippy and sarcastic Spider-Man was. It didn’t seem to matter who he was fighting, what was happening, or the severity of his own injuries: Spider-Man always had a joke completely ready to go. He had first seen it as he watched some grainy CCTV footage from a fight in an alleyway, Spider-Man had the upper hand, and in a complete last-ditch attempt to avoid being webbed up, the mugger had pulled a knife out of seemingly nowhere, and he had made quick work of attempting to stab Spidey.

“Hey!” Spider-Man had protested as he easily dodged the knife, “That’s arachnophobia!” 

Another time, Tony was watching some cell phone video on Youtube. There was a car that was headed full speed through the intersection, the driver paying little attention to the red light. Right before the car could barrel through the cross-walk, Spider-Man caught it. He somehow managed to give the driver a disapproving look through that ridiculous mask of his, and he had no problem running off another comment. 

“Red means stop, usually.” He spoke off-handly as the light turned green. He pointed up at the stoplight, “this green means you can go, though.” He shrugged as he stepped away from the car. 

Seeing the easy, sarcastic confidence that Spider-Man seemed to expel is what guaranteed Tony that he had chosen the right superhero for Team Ironman. 

Peter Parker was a hell of a lot different though. 

While Tony had been expecting some mid-twenties college asshole with a trust fund to be the person behind the mask, he was completely shocked to discover that it was actually a fourteen-year-old orphan who very well may have been a certified genius. He stared at Peter Parker’s name for a long time, and he had asked Friday to confirm who it was again and again. 

It was always this Parker kid. 

When Tony went out to recruit the kid, he drove his most inconspicuous car (which was in fact, not very inconspicuous at all) and he even tried to look the part a little bit, but it was virtually impossible to tone down his look. He had trudged up six flights of stairs to reach Parker’s walk-up and his kind (and shockingly attractive), aunt gave no indication that her nephew was anything like the Spider-Man Tony had seen across the internet. 

When he finally met Parker and was staring the kid down in his bedroom, he quickly realized that he was absolutely nothing like Spider-Man, the kid (although undoubtedly a hero) was shy and quiet and fiercely intelligent, his demeanor shocked Tony, and he found it difficult to compare the two.

While Spider-Man was confident and sarcastic, Peter Parker was shy and smart, and Tony realized that if the kid kept this us, he would have his identity protected forever: nobody was eve going to assume these two had anything in common. At the time, Tony figured that was probably just the power of the mask; he was very wrong. 

This was not the first time that Peter Parker would catch him by surprise. 

**II. **

The second time was after Peter’s sophomore year homecoming, the one where he had crashed Tony’s plane and saved all his tech at the same time. As Tony had seen the kid grow, he had expected to begin to see aspects of his alter-ego peaking through the person he knew Peter Parker to be, but he never saw any such change. Parker was just as much crawled into his shell as the day he had been with Tony met him. 

Tony was confused as he read the simple note that Spider-Man had attached to one of the crates of Tony’s tech. It was simple, effective, and despite the terse situation, it felt shockingly easy-going: “Found: flying vulture guy -Spider-Man. P.S. Sorry about your plane.” The note was so clearly from Spider-Man, and again, Tony had trouble connecting it with the kid he spoke to at the compound. 

When Tony had seen Peter after the vulture fight, he had none of that nonchalant nature present. His body language was hunched over and scrunched up, he was staring down at his shoes, and his leg bounced anxiously for the majority of their conversation. 

Peter had been wildly apologetic to Tony, and every fourth word seemed to be some variation of “I’m sorry” Peter had waved off every single praise Tony had given him for his actions, always bringing it back to plane he had crashed. 

While Tony had initially assumed that Peter’s personality difference as Spider-Man vs. Peter Parker was about the mask and his ability to hide his identity, he was quickly realizing that it appeared to related to some weird by-product of the superhero adrenaline rush. 

He figured, Peter Parker was quiet and reserved by nature, but when he was put in near-constant life or death situations (and he frequently was as Spider-Man) that’s when his sarcastic and confident personality began to finally emerge from his anxious exterior. 

This is not the first time Tony assumed he knew something about Peter Parker, it is also not the first time his assumptions would be wrong. 

**III. **

The third time was a whole lot darker. Despite the fact that Tony had felt confident that he was finally understanding the difference between Spider-Man and Peter Parker, it was a conundrum that would still enter his train of thought late at night, after all: it was a tad bit weird that the two personalities were so wildly different when they came from the same boy. 

As Tony began spending more time with Peter, the differences had become more and more clear. He loved working with both sides of Peter: fighting with Spider-Man was always exciting and borderline hilarious regardless of the villain. Working through equations and tech with Peter was always thought-provoking and unintentionally witty in its own way. 

Tony had slowly started to notice the way Peter referred to Spider-Man. 

“When I’m Spider-Man…” 

“Since I patrol as Spider-Man…” 

“When I become Spider-Man…”

The realization that Peter didn’t seem himself  _ as _ Spider-Man, but rather as a completely different entity who sometimes  _ became _ the vigilante was a tad bit worrying. Tony wondered briefly if it was some sort of offset of PTSD, the way Peter was able to completely depersonalize himself from the hero that Tony knew he was. 

The levels of de-personalization that Peter experienced weren’t entirely clear to Tony until he watched it in action. It had been late at night, or early in the morning depending on how you think about it, and Tony had just finished putting his tools away, finally prepared to perhaps get more than two hours of sleep. He had been just about to turn off the light when Friday spoke to him. 

“Sir, there doesn’t seem to be anything urgent, but Peter appears to have broken his curfew by over six hours.” Tony froze where he stood. 

“Is he in the suit?” A beat of silence and then, 

“He appears to be in the suit, but he does not have the mask on.” Tony nodded.   
“Where is he?” 

“He has been sitting on the rough of his apartment building for the last four hours.” Tony sighed, quickly realizing that he wasn’t going to be anytime soon. 

“Pull up the last footage and audio from the Baby Monitor Protocol.” 

“Sure Thing, Boss.”

The shot materialized in front of Tony almost immediately. Peter was sitting on the ledge of his apartment building, the sky dark. He carelessly swung his legs over the end of the building. Karen’s voice echoed through the mask.

“Peter, it is advised that you step back from the ledge.” 

“Don’t worry, K-- I’m not going to do anything stupid.” Tony felt his heart flip over as he realized the implication of Peter’s statement. 

“Peter,” Karen spoke again, somehow softer, “Is everything alright.” For a moment, Peter said nothing, the only sounds around them being the sound of the wind. 

“Everything is fine K, I just--” Peter’s voice stuttered and his next words are spoken like he is holding back tears, “It feels like no matter what I do, I’ll never be able to make everything right.” Karen was silently for a moment, and when she spoke again, she somehow managed to sound both soothing and disappointed, Tony found himself wondering how many times the two of them had this conversation in the past. 

“Peter, you’ve done plenty of things right, think of all the people you’ve saved and helped and Spider-Man.” Peter was crying openly now.

“It’s different, I’m Spider-Man but my actions as him don’t change what I’ve already done and I…” Before Peter could finish his sentence, he ripped the mask off, cutting off the feed. The screen in front of Tony went black. 

“That was 7 minutes ago. According to the tracker, he hasn’t moved.” Tony sighed. 

“Put the coordinates in my suit, Fri.” 

Tony’s blood ran cold as he flew the Parkers’ apartment building, as he suddenly realized that Peter’s depersonalization was so much more than just the effects of a mask or some kind of adrenaline rush.

**IV.**

Tony approached the roof as quietly as he could, but he knew Peter would hear him regardless of how quiet he was being. The kid didn’t pay him any mind as he continued to swing his legs over the edge of the apartment building. His tears had quieted down, but he was still shaking slightly, and as Tony touched down and slid out to the suit, he realized that there were still fresh tears leaking out of Peter’s eyes. 

“Hey, kiddo,” Tony try to keep his voice soft as he spoke to Peter, “Karen said you had been up here a while, do you wanna scoot back so we can talk.” Peter didn’t say anything but he quickly shook his head no. Tony tried not to sigh audibly as he looked at the kid. Finally, he walked over to where the kid was sitting and sat down next to him, allowing his legs to swing over the edge like Peter’s. 

He waited in silence. He may not fully understand Peter, but he knew there was nothing the kid hated more than silence, he would have to start filling the thick silence that fell between them. Tony was right. 

“You don’t have to be here. I’m sure you were working on something important before Friday interrupted you.” Tony shook his head. 

“Nope, I was just getting ready to go to bed, nothing important.” He tried to keep his voice light, even though every muscle in his body was tense. 

“That’s important.” Peter finally said, “more important than this anyway.” The silence stretched between them again, and Tony realized he was stupid for assuming Peter would just open up to him so quickly. He started to push.

“You know, I don’t what you think you’ve done, but your actions as Spider-Man absolutely prove how amazing you are.” He looked over at Peter, who was shielding his eyes from Tony’s view, and he quickly realized it was because he had begun to cry again. 

“That’s not true.” Peter began to swing his legs more forcefully now. Tony considered placing a hand on his shoulder but decided against it. 

“Yes, it is. Peter-- Spider-Man is you.” Peter only nodded again, and Tony listened as he swallowed back sobs.

“No, it’s… it’s different. Spider-Man, he helps people and he doesn’t mess up as I did.” Peter was staring out over the city, his eyes unfocused as they searched for something to hold on to. 

“Peter, you save people’s lives every single day. That’s not Spider-Man-- that’s you. That’s Peter Parker.” Peter was silent once again. 

“I just… I feel like I’m… I don’t know if atoning is the right word but I feel like I’m atoning for the things I’ve done wrong and I’ve realized that like… it doesn’t matter what I do or… or how many lives I saved because… because I fucked up when it really counted, ya’ know.” Tony didn’t know what to say to that, so instead, he let his instincts take over as Peter shivered again. He put his arm around Peter’s shoulder and pulled the kid into his side, shocked at the way Peter leaned into the touch. 

“It’s my fault my uncle’s dead.” Peter finally whispered, so quietly Tony could barely hear him, “and I thought if I saved enough people it would like… stop my guilt or something and it doesn’t, it just… it makes it bigger because like… if I can save all these other people, every single day, why couldn’t I save him.” peter sobbed again and Tony pulled him closer. 

“You were a kid, Pete.” Peter shook his head. 

“You don’t understand, I--” 

“It doesn’t matter what you think you did. What happened to your uncle isn’t your fault unless you pulled the trigger.”

“I didn’t but…” 

“Then it isn’t your fault, Peter.” Tony sighed before continuing, “You have to try and let go of this guilt, kid. It’ll eat you alive if you don’t.” Peter nodded and Tony placed his chin on top of Peter’s head as he wrapped his other arm around him. 

“I don’t know how to do that,” Peter admitted finally, voice small. 

“We’ll deal with it in the morning, for now-- let’s get you to bed okay? Sleep helps everything.” Peter nodded numbly as he allowed Tony to lead him off the roof and back into his bedroom. 

Tony quietly tucked him into bed, and he smoothed down Peter’s hair as he did so. 

“Sleep tight, Pete. I’ll be here when you’re awake.” Peter nodded, eyes falling closed as he felt his mentor’s hand card through his hair.

_ Tomorrow, _ his voice supplied as he feels asleep,  _ we can deal with it tomorrow.  _


	14. Day fourteen- Tear-stained

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> tw for somewhat graphic descriptions of self-harm.   
aka  
that fic where Peter doesn't know how to handle his mental health on top of being Spider-Man (p.s. please read the beginning note it's important)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! Sorry, I didn't post this last night, that was the plan (I always try and post the night before) but I have a good excuse: I left my dorm at 8:30 yesterday morning to go to another town with friends, it was super cool and we had so much fun! Then when we got back to our city we bought desserts at our favorite place, and then we watched a movie and long story short by the time I got back to my dorm around 12:00, my roommate was asleep so I couldn't write. 
> 
> This is a heavy one, and the next one will be connected. A reminder that there is a heavy tw on this chapter for self-harm and somewhat graphic descriptions. 
> 
> Also a disclaimer: I can only speak to my own experiences with self-injury when I write triggering topics that I have personal experience with, I use my experiences as the jumping-off point in order to keep the story authentic. I want this to be relatable, but there's a chance this may not represent the experiences that you've had. As always, take care of yourself first. 
> 
> This one is def. a cliff hanger, but since day 14 and 15 are related, and I decided it was fine. Hopefully, I'll be able to get back on track on update tonight. 
> 
> Tumblr: spiclergwen

It had started not long after Skip had gone to prison. Peter was nine years old and everything was too much. He had talked to the police, and then to some nice ladies at the hospital, and then to his aunt and uncle, and then to a judge and a crying jury. Peter was tired of talking all of the time, he found himself relaying the same awful, horrible, information again and again. He would finish telling one person and then suddenly another person needed to know in painful, excruciating detail, everything that had happened to him.

When the judge announced that Skip was guilty, Aunt May had hugged him soo tightly he almost forgot how to breathe. Of course, Peter was happy that Skip wouldn’t be in their lives anymore; but deep down, he found himself even more excited that he wouldn’t have to talk about it again. He was so tired of talking about it. 

Once he, his aunt and his uncle had been ushered out of the courtroom, Peter quietly excused himself to the bathroom. He felt too  _ seen _ , the whole trial everybody was looking at him, watching his reactions carefully. Once the verdict had been read, all eyes were on Peter to monitor his reaction. As he left, people graced him with their sad smiles and the tear-filled eyes and their pity. It was so performative, and Peter was tired. Tired of being seen and heard and scrutinized and questioned. 

He ran to the bathroom to get some alone time, to finally exist in a space where he didn’t have to look or act and certain way. As he closed the door behind him, He felt his finger get trapped. His finger got caught in the door and suddenly it hurt. Peter pulled his finger out of the door as though on auto-pilot. He couldn’t focus on performing or thinking about what had just happened, his whole focus was on the pain. 

It was kinda nice, Peter figured, to focus on something real, and tangible, and current. Focusing on his finger was so much easier than thinking about the sad smiles in the courtroom, or the way his hair was wet with his aunt’s tears, or his uncertain relationship with trauma. 

Peter didn’t tell anyone about his finger. He emerged from the bathroom to rejoin his aunt and uncle, and he smiled and nodded and their suggestion to go out for pizza and ice cream. 

A couple of days later, Peter found himself awakened by a nightmare. He struggled to regain his breathing, his body shaking as the feeling of Skip’s phantom hands ran up and down his thighs. Pulling his legs to his chest, he hugged himself tightly as the memories washed over him again. He found himself whimpering, a quiet:  _ stop stop stop stop stop _ . He was tired, he didn’t want to think about it anymore. 

After ten minutes, he still hadn’t calmed down. His chest was heaving and he could feel himself sweating through the soft fabric of his ironman PJs. As he shook, he could hear the groaning of mattress springs underneath. He considered going to his aunt and uncle’s room, they could make him feel better, right? But he remembered the way his aunt had cried earlier in the court, and he remembered the way he heard his uncle sniffle and wipe his eyes during the trial when he thought Peter wasn’t looking.

Suddenly, Peter found himself at a crossroads as he considered his options. On one hand, he could continue to panic by himself, with no idea how much longer it would persist for, but at least he could spare his aunt and uncle the pain of dealing with him. On the other hand, he didn’t want to add to the hurt he knew they were already experiencing. Peter felt a sob escape his lips in frustration. He wanted to help himself. For once, he wanted to feel like he had a choice in what he did. 

Peter stuck his thumb into his mouth, it was a bad habit he had picked up again after Skip, it helped comfort him (even if it meant that Flash called him a baby at recess). Suddenly, he remembered the way he had felt after he had closed his finger in the bathroom door. All he had been able to focus on was how it hurt. Peter realized that maybe he had more choices than he thought.

In a split-second, Peter made his choice. bit down on his thumb, gently at first, and then he slowly started to bite harder. As the pain in his thumb exploded, he felt everything else stop. Slowly, he felt Skip’s hands disappear from his skin, he bit down harder as his breathing slowly returned to normal and he stopped shaking. By the time he had accidentally broken the skin and the coppery taste of blood began to coat his mouth, he was calm. 

Peter didn’t know what he had just done, but he knew it had helped more than anything. 

And he knew there was no way he could tell his aunt and uncle. 

. . . 

As Peter grew up, his (as his sixth-grade health teacher had called it) “self-harm” began to grow into something more sinister than just the occasional method he used to calm down from nightmares, panic attacks, and, flashbacks. While it still became a way to distract himself, Peter had learned quickly that it could also be used as a form of punishment.

After that first night, Peter had moved on from just biting his thumb. He found that anything from digging his fingernails into his skin, to scratching at his stomach until he bled, to taking showers that were so hot they turned his skin lobster red, could recreate the feeling of absolute peace and numbness that came from being injured. 

It was okay, Peter figured, he had never done any of the stuff his health teacher talked about, he would never think about burning himself with a lighter or cutting open his skin with a razor. That meant that he had to be okay, right? He wasn’t doing any of the bad things she had talked about. 

And then Peter got freaky spider powers.

And then his uncle got shot. 

And then Peter failed to save him. 

And the way Peter treated himself was different now. 

It was after May’s first day back at work. It was Peter’s first time alone in the apartment since Ben had died, and he found himself hysterically pacing the length of their bathroom. He was pulling at his hair as he paced, searching for the thing that would grant him the relief he was looking for. His mind attacked him as he walked, a stream of poison and steady as his heartbeat thrummed through his mind. 

“You killed him.” 

“You’ve ruined your aunt’s life.” 

“You don’t deserve to have superpowers.” 

“You killed him.” 

“You killed him.” 

“You killed him.” 

Peter slammed his hands down on the bathroom sink as he looked at himself in the mirror. His face was pale and the bags around his eyes were dark. He could see the red rings around his pupils from his crying and his cheeks were tear-stained. He looked down, unable to face himself.

(“The face of a murderer.” his mind reminded him). 

Looking down, he saw an open package of the disposable razors May brought with them on vacation. Suddenly, Peter’s mind went three directions at once. 

One was the voice of his health teacher: “cutting yourself is a form of self-injury and it is not healthy.” 

Two was the voice in the back of his head: “you deserve to hurt, Peter. You killed him, and you deserve to bleed as he did.” 

Three was the voice of his nine-year-old self, terrified: “when you hurt, you feel better. It can make you feel better.” Peter nodded along and promised himself that this was a one-time thing. 

He grabbed one of the razors and pulled it open, no problem. His hand was shaking as he wrapped the broken razor in toilet paper and nestled in the bottom of the trashcan. He held the razor in his hand, it was thin and glistening, inviting Peter. He rolled up one sleeve of his hoodie and looked down at the razor. Distantly, he realized that if he did this, there was no going back. 

He pressed the blade against the side of his wrist and he pulled. He breathed out deeply and relief flooded his body. The blood dripped into the sink and each drop of blood was louder than the voices in his head. Before he could even think, he pressed the blade against his wrist again. 

And again.

And again. 

He only stopped when he heard his phone ring. He quickly swiped the notification away, but it was too: the trance-like state he had been in had been broken. What he saw left him frozen in his tracks. There were four long, horizontal cuts across Peter’s wrist. The newest two were dripping blood while the first and second had closed and almost scabbed over. Peter could barely think as he wrapped the last two with bandages and cleaned the blood out of the sink. Once he was done, he looked at himself in the mirror before looking back down at the blade; then, he made a decision he would regret for the rest of his life.

He picked the blade up off of the counter and carried it into his room. 

. . . 

Peter was sixteen now, and he knew that it was bad, but the couldn’t stop. Everything was going well for him: Spider-Man was doing good work and saving lives on the daily, he and Ned (and sometimes MJ) had amazing weekly movie marathons, he had a real internship with Tony Stark, and the man had become his mentor/father figure over the last few years. 

That didn’t change anything. Every time something went wrong: somebody got hurt while he was patrolling, he didn’t do very well on a test, or when panic once again overtook him as he felt  _ hands _ , or  _ rubble _ crash onto him, he felt himself slowly pull the blade out from where he had tapped it beneath his bed. His arms and thighs were littered with scars but it was so embarrassing, and Peter didn’t even know how to ask for help. 

Year after year, health teachers told them that “help was out there” and that they needed to “ask for it” but nobody had ever taught him how to do that, or told him what would happen if he did. Peter knew that it had spiraled out of control when he realized that he was completely unable to go more than a few days without it, his skin would begin to itch and crawl, and he would twitch until he could reach the safety of his bedroom again. 

The problem was shame. Peter was a superhero, goddamnit, he shouldn’t have to resort to cutting open his skin to deal with his problems. He didn’t want anybody to know how he was struggling because he knew they would look down on him for resorting to something so insane. Peter saw how Mr. Stark looked at him as he learned the details of his battle with the vulture, May’s wet tears in his hair during the trail were still so painful to remember and Peter didn’t want to put them through that again. 

He wouldn’t. 

It was a Wednesday night and Peter was working in the lab with Tony. They were mostly working on separate projects, but they joked and laughed as they did so. Peter worked on a new web-fluid prototype that would take longer to dissolve (for emergencies) while Tony was working on a new Ironman prototype. The lab was hot and Peter found himself rolling up the sleeves of his hoody, the scars that littered his forearm completely forgotten as he added another chemical to the mix. 

He felt Tony come up behind him as he worked on it. It was common for Tony to glance over Peter’s shoulder for a few seconds to check upon him, and Peter thought nothing of it. Tony lingered a few moments longer than normal, and his lack of jokes made Peter think he must be deep in thought. He heard Tony sigh quietly, but before Peter could question him, he said. 

“Fri? Turn off the music.” Peter turned to face Tony fully, confused. The man was looking at him with an odd mixture of sadness, confusion, and fear, and for a moment, Peter found himself completely and utterly confused. Tony looked Peter in the eyes before looking away, as though he couldn’t look at him. Peter furrowed his brow and Tony gestured to him, hands shaking. 

“Hey, kid?” Tony asked, and Peter could tell that he was trying to come across as calmer than he was. 

“Yeah?” Peter responded, suddenly warry of the silence and the way Tony avoided his eyes. 

“What’s up with your arm?” 

Peter looked down at his arm, his exposed arm, and he realized what Mr. Stark was asking of him. Peter’s eyes darted around the room as he tried to think of what to do, but his mind was muddled with thoughts of: 

_ He knows.  _

_ He knows.  _

_ He knows.  _

“Because you’ve got ten seconds to explain to me why it isn’t what it looks like.” Against his will, Peter felt his eyes well up with tears. A strange mixture of embarrassment, shame, and relief bubbled to surface as he looked at Tony. 

The tears in his eyes told him everything he needed to know. 

“Oh, kid.” 


	15. Day fifteen- Scars

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pt. 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi okay, I'm going to try to get back on my schedule of posting the night before, but that just wasn't gonna happen this time. I hit a lot of writer's block with this one because I was scared it wouldn't be as good as the first, but oh well, I still like it a lot. 
> 
> This chapter is much less graphic than the first but as a reminder: I can only speak to my own experiences, and while I strive to make it relatable, I may sometimes fail at that, everybody's stories are different, and even if your's doesn't look like mine or Peter's it is still valid and I hope you're able to get the help and healing you deserve . As always, take care of yourself first. 
> 
> Tumblr: spiclergwen

Peter stood silently as the world seemed to slow around him. He found himself gasping for air like a fish out of the water as he avoided Tony’s eyes. Before he could come up with a quick lie, tears began streaming down his face. He could think through the pulse of: 

_ He knows.  _

_ He knows.  _

_ He knows.  _

** _You failed._ ** _ _

What he failed at, he wasn’t so sure. Distantly, he registered Tony’s quiet mumble of “oh, kid.” But he was much more focused on the way his heart felt like it was going to beat out of his chest. He looked everywhere but at Tony, his eyes darted around near the floor as he inspected his dirty white converse. 

He allowed Tony to tug him towards the couch in the lab, and he fell into the older man’s arms without any preamble. When Peter imagined this moment, he always imagined that he would be sobbing hysterically, unable to breathe while Tony or his Aunt stared at him in disappointment. 

That isn’t how it happened at all.   
Once Peter was safely wrapped in Tony’s arms, he allowed his tears to flow freely, they came fast and hard but it was silent, nothing like the panic-induced sobs he had pictured. As he laid his head on Tony’s shoulder, he noticed the shreds of relief that tore through him. 

Distantly, Peter realized that he wasn’t alone in his struggle anymore. Even if Tony was mad or upset, he wasn’t leaving Peter alone after this. He was going to check on him, make sure he was doing okay,  _ help him get better.  _

Peter wasn’t sure if he was scared or relieved. 

Tony wrapped his arms tighter around the kid and gently laid his head on top of Peter’s. He tried furiously to blink away his tears to the best of his ability, the last thing he wanted was for Peter to know he was crying. Peter had a guilt complex bigger than New York and the last thing he needed was to worry about Tony on top of everything else. 

He didn’t say anything, he knew if he let Peter cry it out, it would be easier to openly discuss his… 

Tony felt his mind trip as the words  _ self-harm _ and  _ cutting _ flashed bright red in his mind. He felt more tears come to his eyes as his mind berated him:  _ you should have known, how could you not see it before?  _

He felt a wave of guilt wash over him as he realized the true reality of the situation: Peter, the closest thing he had to a son, had reached a point in his life where he was so desperate, so out of options, that the only thing he could do was literally slice his skin open. 

Tony had seen Peter’s wrist with his own two eyes, and it was a mental picture that would never go away. His kid’s wrist, pale and littered with thick white scars and long, angry red lines. He subconsciously pulled the kid closer to him. All this time and he hadn’t seen a single warning sign. He had never been able to look past Peter’s cheerful personality and a bright smile. 

It wasn’t about him, and he knew that; but, to some degree it made him feel like an absolute failure. He was a genius, he was a superhero-- his job was to help those who were hurting, but he couldn’t even do that when he was faced with the struggles of his kid. 

Eventually, Peter’s tears began to slow down, he burrowed himself deep into Tony’s shoulder as his body stopped shaking and his sniffles dissolved into quiet hiccups. Tony unwrapped him from his arms but made no other move to push the kid away. 

For a moment, Peter didn’t move. Then, he sluggishly began to detach himself from Tony, his movements slow and exhausted like an old man. When he pulled away from Tony, he pushed himself towards the edge of the couch, as though he no longer wanted to be near the older man. 

He quickly tugged his hoodie sleeve back down, the action desperate and shameful as he continued to avoid Tony’s eyes. He folded his legs under himself and pulled his knees to his chest, he hugged himself as he attempted to make himself smaller. When he finally met Tony’s eyes he looked both older and younger than Tony had ever seen him. 

His skin was blotchy from the crying, his eyes a dark red and still filled with tears. His eyes were wide and his round face reminded Tony of not a teenager, but a child. The deep bags under his eyes and the way Tony could watch him breathe heavily reminded Tony of somebody much older than the kid sitting in front of him. 

Tony crisscrossed his legs as he turned his whole body towards Peter, he let his arms hang gently at his sides in a desperate attempt to appear as both relaxed and open. He didn’t know where he was supposed to start, but he knew that it would have to be him that did. Finally, he spoke. 

“I’m not mad.” Peter nodded, and Tony watched him quickly wipe at his eyes again. Peter looked down at his shoes as he spoke. 

“...But you’re disappointed?” Even though he wasn’t watching him, Tony shook his head. 

“I don’t think that disappointed is the word that I would use,” he thought carefully before he continued, without thinking, he reached out and grabbed Peter’s hands, waiting until the young boy met his eyes. 

“Peter-- there’s is nothing, and I really mean nothing-- you could do that would disappoint me.” Peter was silent for a moment before a light smile broke out across his face. 

“What if I turned out to be a crazy mad scientist?” Tony forced out a chuckle as he shook his head. 

“What if I didn’t go to college and opened up a shop that only sold vacuums to supervillains?” Tony shook his head again. 

“What if I was actually team Captain America?”

“Well…” He mused, pretending to think about it, 

“not even then.” Peter gave him a small genuine smile, then before he looked away again. The silence lulled between them again. Tony felt this voice catch in his throat as he spoke again. 

“Kiddo, you know I’m not good with emotion,” he felt his voice break as Peter tore his gaze away, “I am… heartbroken for you, and incredibly angry with myself for not noticing sooner but the last thing I feel is disappointment.” He watched Peter’s face scrunch up again as the kid fought back tears. He released Peter’s hands so that he could wipe his eyes. 

Tony glanced around the lab as he was suddenly hit with a stroke of genius. He stood up suddenly, and Peter watched as he the older man almost sprinted towards a cabinet in the back of the lab. He turned towards Peter and remarked: 

“Hey, turn around! Your Christmas presents are in here and you’re not allowed to see all of them.” Peter obliged but questioned out loud: 

“You got me  _ multiple _ Christmas presents?” He heard Tony drop something, but he didn’t turn around to see what it was. Tony’s voice was closer as he answered. 

“Yeah, of course, I did.” Suddenly, Tony was sitting back down. Peter turned towards him and felt his mouth almost dropped open in shock. Tony was holding, the brand new Lego Millenium Falcon and Peter was so shocked he forgot how to speak for a minute. 

“That’s not on the market yet.” Tony chuckled as he watched Peter in disbelief. 

“I have my ways.” He shot back, raising an eyebrow as Peter continued to stare at him in shock. The mood fell somber again as Tony continued. 

“So, we’re gonna build this, and every time we complete a step, we’re gonna talk, yeah?” He didn’t have to explain what they were going to talk about for Peter to know. He nodded as he and Tony sank to the floor. Tony quickly pulled out the instructions and dumped all of the pieces onto the floor. They worked in silence until the first step was completed. 

“How long has this been going on?” Tony asked, no preamble. Peter sighed and twirled a lego block between his fingers as he answered. 

“In what way?” Tony stopped, genuinely confused.

“...All ways?” He asked tentatively. Peter swallowed visibly before speaking. 

“I uh… realized that hurting myself was um… an option, I guess, when I was probably like nine?” Tony felt his heart crack like a teacup, but Peter continued, “I didn’t start um…” He gestured vaguely to the cuts along his arm, “until I was thirteen though, so it’s been like… three years? Yeah, three years.” Tony nodded, and before he could say anything, Peter had picked up the next lego and set it into place.

Tony wanted, no needed, to know, but the next step ended way too soon. Peter didn’t say anything, but he stopped moving and stared at Tony, his cheek resting on his palm. 

“Why?” Tony asked, finally. Peter shrugged.

“That’s a loaded question.” He was silent for a minute, “I think when it was younger it was like, a way to calm down because if you’re bleeding then you can’t focus on anything else.” He began to gesture wildly, “once my uncle died it was like, grounding, almost? And calming and it felt like, an okay way to punish myself, for what had happened I guess. I don’t know how to stop now. This has been a part of my life for three-ish years and I don’t think I know how to not…” he trailed off and shrugged again. 

“I really am sorry, kid.” Peter shrugged again, and Tony could tell he was using it as some sort of safety. 

“It’s not your fault.” 

And then it was silent again. They sat facing each other, working quietly. Tony could see why Peter enjoyed this kind of stuff, it felt nice to put something together and watch it turn in to something recognizable. The next step came too soon as Tony asked the question he was most afraid of. 

“Do you… want to stop?” He waited with bated breath for Peter to answer, unsure if he wanted to know. 

“I don’t actually know.” Peter said, “I guess I never really thought about it. Stopping would probably be good though, yeah.” Despite their agreement, Tony asked another question. 

“Have you never thought about it?” Peter didn’t seem to mind the extra question and he answered candidly. 

“I sorta thought I would’ve died by now.” The weight of the statement hit Tony full force as Peter continued on building. 

. . .

“Does your aunt know?” 

“Of course not.” 

The building continued to grow. 

. . . 

“Would you… consider therapy?” Peter shrugged. 

“I mean, I don’t know if we could afford--”

“You know I would pay for it.” 

“My identity--” 

“We could get an NDA if you wanted to disclose that at all.” 

“Yeah, I would consider it.” 

Tony nodded, daring to trust the hope that blossomed in his heart. 

. . . 

“Do you want to die?” 

“I mean… not really.” 

“Okay, that’s good.” 

. . .

They were about halfway done when Peter’s eyes began to droop. Tony smiled as Peter’s movements grew slower. He stood up and grabbed Peter by the hand, yanking him up. 

“Are we done?” Peter asked through a yawn.

“Not forever, but I think a certain Spider-ling needs to go to bed.” Peter didn’t fight him as he lead him to his room. Peter crawled into bed and Tony tucked him in, pulling the comforter up to his chin and then sitting down beside him. He pushed back Peter’s hair with his hand. 

“You’re not mad?” 

“Nope, still not mad.” Peter looked around the room as he asked another question, his voice small and laced with fear. 

“Are we going to tell Aunt May? How do I even find a therapist?” Tony looked down at his kid and smiled despite his emotions.

“That’s tomorrow stuff, kiddo-- let’s get through the night first.” Peter nodded as Tony stood up. 

“Goodnight, Mr. Stark,” Peter mumbled as his eyes closed. 

“Goodnight, Peter.” Tony leaned down at placed a kiss on Peter’s forehead. As he turned off his bedroom light and began to close the door, he found himself whispering. 

“I love you kid. We’re gonna figure this out.”

He wasn’t sure if Peter heard him. 


	16. Day sixteen- Pinned down

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter always gave people an out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm a freshman in college right now, and I am under so much stress it's not even funny. Anyways, I'm super busy for the next week, which means my updates will be rushed and not near as good. I literally was so excited about this chapter, and it's on my list of things to rewrite because honestly, I just could not get anything good to come out? So this one isn't great but I guess it's whatever.
> 
> Also, this is another one that deals with Skip, if that's not your gig: it's not graphic, (more graphic than chapter one, but less graphic than the self-harm in chapter fourteen) but I would skip this chapter because it's graphic in non-explicit ways if that makes sense.
> 
> also, I would argue that this doesn't have a happy ending because tbh I just wasn't feeling that today. 
> 
> Tumblr: spiclergwen

It’s not like Peter didn’t have his shit together. Sure, he was definitely the youngest superhero on the scene, and he did need help from time to time, but people seriously underestimated just how capable Peter was. If he wanted too, he could throw ninety percent of his opponents into the next county, no problem. He was able to outsmart most of the people he interacted with as Spider-Man, so it wasn’t like he had an issue there. 

Contrary to popular belief, Peter Parker could win fights against all the villains of New York City without breaking a sweat. Beating them was never a problem. No, Peter’s problem was actually this: 

_ He never wanted to do the wrong thing.  _

The realization that some muggers didn’t have a home to go to, that some shoplifters couldn’t afford to put food on the table, that some of those petty thieves were unable to get jobs for a variety of reasons was not lost on him. Peter understood that sometimes the world didn’t hand people a fair hand. After all, the world had handed Peter his own fair share of shitty circumstances. 

That’s why Peter always, without fail, gave most criminals an out. He never got physical with anybody until he felt they had been given a fair shot. Nobody was ever webbed up to a wall without an opportunity to walk away unscathed. 

“Please give that lady back her purse.” 

“Please don’t stab that person.” 

“Please go put that back on the shelf.” 

He was Queens’ hero for a reason, he understood their situations uniquely, and he did his best to respond accordingly. More than once, a newspaper or broadcast would pause from reporting on Spider-Man’s crime-fighting to report on the other things he did. 

“Spider-Man has been seen walking a woman home from work.” 

“Spider-Man was last seen buying a homeless teenager a sandwich.” 

Peter always saw himself as a friendly neighborhood Spider-Man, and he knew that being a part of the community meant more than just fighting crime and calling the police on criminals. It meant being there for the people of Queens, walking them home, making sure people felt safe and protected, giving directions and helping chase down pets. 

Spider-Man loved Queens when it was calm and when it was violent. For a long time, Peter couldn’t imagine a situation where he would refuse to give somebody an out. 

And then he dealt with his first almost-rapist. 

He had heard the woman screaming in the alley, and a chill ran through his body as he swung in the direction of the noise. He knew immediately that this wasn’t the scream of somebody being mugged, it was something much more sinister. 

When he reached the alley, the man had his hands almost entirely shoved down the woman’s pants, she was struggling, but her screams were muffled behind the man’s hand that was clamped tight again her mouth. 

Peter prided himself on always being able to stay calm, but at that moment, any sense of calmness went through the window. As he approached the situation, he realized suddenly: he was afraid. 

_ Still scared, Peter?  _ A voice that soundly suspiciously like Skip echoed through his mind as he pulled the man away. Before he could say anything, the woman was running down the street, it was for the best: Peter couldn’t trust himself to speak. 

His reactions were slowed as his mind began to race. Distantly, he recognized that he should be paying more attention to the assailant, but his mind was already pre-occupied. Seeing that woman helpless and struggling forced Peter’s mind to wander in ways he didn’t have time for. 

. . . 

“Einstein, let’s play a game!” Peter nodded enthusiatically as Skip lead him to his bedroom, a place Peter seldom visited. The two boys sat on the bed, and Skip pulled a magazine out from underneath his bed, he handed it to Peter before he began to rummage through his drawers to find something else. 

Peter looked down at the magazine and almost immediately looked away. The people were naked and doing… something? Peter couldn’t tell what was happening, but something told him that it wasn’t something he should be seeing. 

Skip finally found what he was looking for in his drawers, and Peter flinched as Skip through a pink bottle filled with some sort of slime onto the bed behind Peter. Skip sat down next to Peter and placed a hand on his thigh. Peter immediately stiffened but said nothing. 

“How about we,” Skip’s breath was warm and wet against Peter’s ear as he whispered, every hair on the back of Peter’s neck standing up as Skip began to trace his fingers up and down his thigh, “conduct a little science experiment of our own?” 

Peter was too scared to say no. 

. . .

The man must’ve realized that Peter was distracted, and he took advantage of it. He managed to wiggle himself out of Peter’s grasp, and before Peter knew what was happening, the man had pushed him away. 

Peter went sprawling back, shocked by the sudden movement. The man placed a well-aimed punch to the chest as Peter stood up. He lost his balance for a moment and fumbled as the man approached him. Peter blocked his next punch but still felt himself back into a corner. 

“What the fuck, man?” Peter blocked the next hit that was headed towards his face. “Can’t you see she wanted it? Did you hear her say no?” 

_ “Come on Pete-- you didn’t say no.” _

Peter’s next punch hit the man clear across the face, and Peter immediately noticed that he hadn’t pulled his punch as much as he had meant to. The sound of Skip reverberated in his ears as he listened to the man speak. 

“No…” Peter gritted out through clenched teeth, “doesn’t… mean… yes.” He dodged again, but he tried to swipe the man’s legs out from underneath him, but he moved before Peter could. A look of understanding flashed across the man’s face for a moment, but not for long. 

“You’ve got to be kidding me. Don’t you have a bank robbery to stop or something?” Peter rolled his eyes under the mask as he threw another punch harder than he usually would. 

“There’s nothing more important than this.” The man seemed to realize that Spider-Man was angry than normal, it was clear on his face as he continued the fight. 

Peter didn’t usually fight with the intention of harming anybody, usually he was completely focused on incapacitating somebody enough to web them, but seeing this man--  _ this monster _ \-- had so much anger, adrenaline, and fear running Peter’s blood that he couldn’t help but hope the police found him with at least a few broken ribs. 

. . . 

Every single fiber of Peter’s being was telling him to run, to come up with an excuse to leave Skip’s house and never return, but his body was frozen in fear. 

It was a moment that would haunt Peter for the rest of his life, Skip leaned into Peter and smiled at him, Peter had never realized how hungry and wolfish the older boy looked until right then. He looked Peter up and down, as though he was something other than human, a doll maybe, meant just for him. Skip wrapped one arm around Peter’s waist as he laid a rough kiss on Peter’s kneck. 

“This is okay, right Pete?” He was asking, but Peter knew that he wasn’t really, that he was just using it to justify his own actions. Peter didn’t say anything. He didn’t even nod, too scared to even think. 

It was something that would float through Peter’s mind as he walked home, it would be repeated over and over again at his trial, and it would haunt Peter’s nightmares. 

He didn’t say yes, he hadn’t done a single thing that could have even been misconstrued as consent in any single way, but he never fought Skip. 

_ And he didn’t say no.  _

. . . 

The fight was no longer than five minutes, Peter figured, but somehow it had felt like a lifetime. After he had begun to back out of the corner and recover from his initial shock, Peter had been able to get the upper hand quickly, at least for a while. 

As he began to battle the man into the wall, he found himself unable to slip into his quippy, sarcastic, Spider-Man persona. The anger that was spilling white-hot from his mouth was not from the mind of the friendly neighborhood protector.

It was all Peter Parker, it wasn’t superhero but survivor, it was furious and bitter, full of questions that would never be answered. 

“Do you even care how much you’ve ruined her life?” Another kick. 

“People don’t just get over shit like that.” A punch to the chest. 

“God only knows what she’s going to go through now--” His voice faltered as he looked at the man’s face. 

The other man failed to look regretful; instead, Peter quickly realized that his eyes were lit up like Christmas day, an evil smile curling around his lips as he looked at Peter. A sort of realization seemed to dawn on him as he pushed against Peter. 

He turned around Peter, and pushed him up against the wall. Against his will, Peter felt his breath suddenly quicken as  _ hands _ suddenly snacked around his arms, and it felt like he didn’t have enough room to breathe as he realized just how close the other man was. 

The man pinned down Peter’s arms with his hands, and smiled as Spider-Man failed to move. They both knew Peter could rip away from the other man’s arms like wet paper if he wanted too, but it seemed completely unable to move. 

Suddenly, Peter wasn’t a fifteen year old in an alleyway. He was nine and stuck in a teenager’s bedroom as his body felt like it was being ripped in half. The man leaned in, and Peter could feel his hot and wet breath against his neck through the fabric of his suit. When he spoke, Peter couldn’t tell if it was him or Skip, their voices curled around each other as though they were speaking in unison. 

He was half present, and half gone. 

“‘ _ People don’t just get over shit like that _ ’, huh? That coming from experience, Spider-Man?” Peter shuddered under the man’s arms. 

“Ya’ know, you could break away anytime? Are you scared?” Peter didn’t say anything, cursing himself as his body began to shake. 

“Is this what it was like for you? Were you frozen with fear? Stuck in some alleyway with a strange man?” Peter couldn’t tell if the hand on his thigh was real or not. 

“You’re awfully silent, Spidey-- did you ever say no?” Peter struggled against the man’s grasp, choking out a quiet “please, don’t.” 

The man chuckled. 

“You’re quite the tease, ya’ know? The tight spandex draws attention,” One of his hands trailed along Peter’s chest as he struggled, “Maybe it’s a good thing I let her go if I could have you instead.” Peter struggled harder, ignoring the tears that sprung to his eyes. He tried to level out his breathing. 

He started to turn his wrist upwards, the man continued speaking. 

“I can only imagine what the news would say about their sweet little neighborhood hero… raped in an alley while on the job.” Peter tuned out the man’s voice as best he could, but he couldn’t ignore the way shivers ran up and down his spine as he fought to stop the oncoming panic attack. 

He twisted his wrist so it was facing up, and as though in slow motion, he shot a web right into the man’s face. He dropped Peter immediately as he spluttered. Being so near a panic attack and filled with a type of fear Peter hadn’t experienced in years left his movements sloppy and disconnected, but he was able to web the man to a wall. He pointed his webshooters towards the wall, but before he shot, he spoke. 

“I don’t know if there is a god,” his voice was filled with unmistakable anger, dark and thick like volcanic ash, it was the sort of thing Peter didn’t even know he had in him, “but if there is, I hope you rot in hell.” 

With that, he was gone. 

He landed a rooftop a few buildings away, unable to make it much farther. He ignored most of what Karen was saying to him as he sunk to the ground.

“Peter, your heart rate is elevated, would you like me to call Mr. Stark?” The sheer thought of speaking to anybody about what had just happened sounded beyond tiring to Peter as he sighed.

“No K, I’m going to go home soon.” The AI was silent.

“Are you sure, you usually stay out for at least two more hours.” Peter sighed and tugged the mask off of his face, cutting the feed.

He collapsed against the building, face tear-stained and maskless as he dropped his head in his hands. 

And then he sat there and allowed the sobs to shake his body as the sunset over Queens. 


	17. Day seventeen- "Stay with me"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter was not, in fact, Tony's kid. 
> 
> Tony was the only person who was sure of this.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Straight up, Until like 12:00 tonight, my only downtime was while I was on the T, so that sucked. Add this day to the list of prompts I want to rewrite when I have more time, because I sorta stan my idea for this, but I did not have the time to execute it properly, which is why it's so short: I am very tired. 
> 
> For reference, my week is wild: I have like 3 major projects due at the start of the week, and then my parents are coming in for Thursday-Sunday and I haven't seen them since August so I really miss them. Anyways, I'm definitely going to continue to update because I'm into this now, but my pieces might get shorter. 
> 
> TW: suicidal thoughts, but not in the way you'd expect (no attempts or anything)
> 
> Tumblr: @spiclergwen

Tony watched Peter’s body fall out of the sky as though it was in slow motion. One minute, Peter had been webbing up one of the hundreds of HYDRA goons that seemed to be coming out of nowhere, and Tony had been once again, explaining to Clint that he was not Peter’s dad. The next he was in a free fall. Tony’s mind registered the shooting in the comms devices, but all of them were too wrapped up in their own battles. 

Tony didn’t actually hear Peter fall to the ground, but as his body hit the ground he could imagine the desperate crunch that must’ve resounded from Peter’s body as he smacked again the concrete. 

He pushed the HYDRA goon he was fighting away and immediately flew off towards the kid. He pushed the goons out of the way as he made it to the kid, and he had to blink to remind himself that what he was seeing was real. 

Peter’s leg was bent at an unnatural angle, and his hip bone was jutting out more than it usually would be. There was blood trickling from the space between the mask and the rest of his suit, and Tony couldn’t tell where it was coming from. As he leaned down, he heard Peter’s attempts at breathing, strangled and small. 

Captain America’s voice was suddenly in his ears.

“Tony, I think we have it, take your kid and get him back to the compound.” Tony was about to protest, he insistence that Peter was  _ not his kid _ died in his throat as Peter let out a choked groan-- a sound that was a mix between a baby bird and corpse-- and he immediately changed his mind. He spoke an affirmative to Cap, and then suddenly the kid was in his arms. 

He made a mental note that Peter was too skinny, and promised to do something like about that. As he carried the kid, he could feel his ribs slotting back and forth. Tony grimaced as he realized the sheer amount of work they would have to do. 

Although Friday informed Tony that they had made the compound in record time, the flight had felt like it had taken hours. Despite Tony’s coaxing, Peter had fallen asleep about halfway through. As he landed in the medbay, they were immediately surrounded by people. 

Before Tony could comprehend what was happening, a nurse was reaching over him, taking Peter out of his arms. He allowed his armor to melt away as he watched the nursing crew lead Peter into the medbay. 

Once his suit was fully off, he followed them. The walk was quiet, the compound still almost completely empty. As he entered the medbay, he was assaulted by the sudden chaos. 

“We’re losing his pulse, move quicker!”

Tony walked further into the room, completely unnoticed. 

“Internal body temperature is at 87 degrees!”

Dr. Cho finally noticed Tony, and he swore she had never been so relieved to see him. 

“Okay-- that could definitely be a punctured lung.” 

“Tony, thank god you’re here.” Cho grabbed his wrist and began to drag him towards the bed. 

“He woke up as they carried him in, but we keep losing him.” Tony nodded along as they approached Peter.

“You need to keep him awake.” Tony nodded his affirmation, unable to speak as he looked down at the kid. 

Peter’s face and body were covered with bruises in varying states of healing, the majority of the right side of his body was exposed, and Tony blanched as he realized the way his leg, hip, and ribs were all clearly displaced. A large, deep purple spot was running from the bottom of his ribs to almost his knees, and the way he seemed to grow caused Tony’s heart to stop beating. 

Unaware of what to do, he grabbed Peter’s hands. Peter’s eyes flickered open again as he stared at Tony. It took a minute before he began to realize who was in front of him.

“Mis’er Stark…?” His voice slurred dangerously as his eyes began to close again. 

“In the flesh, kiddo.” He squeezed Peter’s hand tighter. 

“Stay with me, Underoos-- you gottta stay with me.” Peter tried to shake his head no but was stopped by the number of wires, and braces, and hands that curled around him. 

“I… don’t… wanna.” Peter tried and failed to shake his head again, “I’m tired.” Tony sighed. 

“I know you’re tired, but if you can stay awake just a little bit longer you can go to sleep for a long time, okay buddy?” Peter eyed Tony for a minute. 

“But I could sleep now?” Tony shook his head.

“Nah, you gotta stick with me.” 

“That’s stupid.” Tony let out a breathy chuckle. 

“Yeah, I know.” Peter’s eyelids fluttered again. Suddenly, Tony found himself hit with a stroke of genius.

“Hey, Peter?” Peter nodded.

“What’s twelve times two?” 

“Twenty-four.” 

“Good one. Okay, I’m going to keep asking you questions alright, and every time you answer correctly, I’ll give you free rein to pick the next movie, sounds good?”

“Sounds good.” Tony nodded, before asking Friday to keep track. 

“Eight times four?”

The doctors snapped one of his ribs back into place. 

“Thirty-two.” 

“Ten minus six?” 

Another one. 

“Four.” 

“One hundred and thirty-three minus two?”

Peter winced in pain as they began to place a nano cast on his leg.

“One hundred and thirty-one.”

This continued for what felt like an eternity, and when Tony looked up, he realized that he had just given Peter free-rein over the next eight movie nights. He better make sure he had all the Star Wars films available. 

Two of the doctors pushed by Tony as they looked down at his hip. They seemed to be silently communicating before a nurse spoke up. 

“Should we go into surgery?” Dr. Cho shook her head.

“He heals to fast, we’d have to rebreak the bone. Hopefully, we’ll be able to pop it back into place and let his healing factor take care of it.” The nurse looked unsure but nodded. Dr. Cho turned back towards Tony.

“This is going to hurt, a lot.” Tony nodded and let go of Peter’s hand. The doctors began to work on his hip, and while it was probably only a couple of seconds long, It was the kind of moment that would haunt Tony for the rest of his life. 

Peter let out an absolutely blood-curdling scream as they attempted to slide his leg back into his hip. His eyes were scrunched up in pain and his whole face was presented a look of pure agony. Tony resisted the urge to grab the kid’s handing, knowing he could accidentally break it. He settled instead for running a hand through the kid’s hair.

“Just a few more seconds, Pete-- then it’s bedtime okay?” He doubted Peter could focus on anything other than the pain, his fists were clenched so tightly Tony was worried the kid might break his own fingers. As Tony watched him, he realized, with a pit in his stomach-- that he would take the pain onto himself for the kid in an instant. If he could take all of Peter’s pain away he would. He tried to wipe away the parental implications of that statement. 

Instead, he kept a soothing hand in the kid’s hair as his body was readjusted. There was another scream from Peter and then the whole room was still. 

The two doctors looked at each other and then backed away slowly, taking deep breaths as they checked out Peter’s leg. They nodded at each other and then stepped away. Dr. Cho turned to Tony.

“We’ll have to place an IV, but he should be fine to go to sleep.” Tony nodded wordlessly as he sat in the chair by Peter’s bed. He grabbed the kid’s hand again, fighting a smile as the kid’s tired face turned to him. 

“You did great, kid.” Peter nodded.

“I can sleep?” Tony let out a chuckle. 

“Yeah, buddy-- you can sleep.” Peter closed his eyes but otherwise didn’t move. Tony waited until he saw the gentle rise and fall of Peter’s chest even out. He tried to stand up and pull away, but he couldn’t.

He looked down and realized that Peter, most likely on accident, had completely stuck himself to Tony’s hand. He stared down at his hand and then back at the kid, still asleep. He got as comfortable as he could. 

He cast a fond smile at Peter, unable to contain it as he looked at the boy’s messy curls and puffy cheeks. 

“Ya’ know kid, you really like to put dents in my plans?” Peter didn’t respond, but he did shift in his sleep ever so slightly. If Tony hadn’t been listening, he would’ve missed the way Peter mumbled under his breath: 

“Stay with me.” Tony chuckled again.

“I’m not going anywhere, Peter.” 

And with that, he fell asleep, his hand fully wrapped in his son’s. 


	18. Day eighteen- Muffled scream

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Part II following the events of day 16.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Basically, somebody was like "Would love to see Tony comfort Peter after day 16." and I was like "sounds good my dude." But then, I got another really good idea based off of that, so I didn't do that at all, oops. If you wanna know who it's about, check out the new relationship added ;) 
> 
> Also, I realized this accidently tied in perfectly with day 25, so apparently Days 16, 18, and 25 are a 3-part tale. Nice. 
> 
> Tags: the past sexual abuse happens, but it's never named or described. This is a fluffier one, honestly. 
> 
> Sorry, this is so short, it's cute though, it would've been longer-- but I was nervous about characterization
> 
> Tumblr: spiclergwen

He heard the muffled sobbing from a few rooftops away. He couldn’t tell if anybody was hurt, and even though the sound seemed to echo out of his neighborhood and into Queens, he followed it. 

Being extra careful, he made his way to the sound of the voice. He landed on the rooftop, and he heard the person’s heartbeat: it was fast, and it picked up as the person turned towards him. He sniffed the air. It smelled like high school and chemicals and  _ hands _ and  _ blood _ and Spider-Man’s webbing? He tried to approach the figure. He heard them scoot away and he held his hand out. 

“I’m not going to hurt you.” The person didn’t speak again, but they didn’t move farther away either. He finally kneeled next to them. 

“Spider-Man?” He asked cautiously, trying to debate what he should do, and quickly realizing that he was completely out of his wheelhouse. He settled on sitting down next to the boy. He heard Spider-Man nod and sniffle, finally turning to face him. 

“Mr. Daredevil?” Spider-Man asked, his voice quiet. Matt felt his fingers clench in rage as he realized just how young and unsure Spider-Man sounded, nothing like a confident and sarcastic superhero he had heard about. 

“Yep.” He heard Spider-Man clench something tightly in his fist as he wiped at his eyes. 

“You’re not going to tell anybody, right?” It seemed as though Spider-Man was motioning to his face, and Matt realized that he must be maskless. He nodded his head no. It was silent outside of Spider-man’s sniffles and too-fast heartbeat. Matt realized that if he wanted to help the kid-- 

(Since when did he want to help?) 

He would have to give him a reason to trust him.

“I’m blind, kiddo-- you’re identity is safe.” He heard Spider-Man nodded before the boy gave a verbal confirmation.

“You’re a blind superhero? That’s literally so cool!” Matt chuckled ruefully, wondering how the whole of New York hadn’t realized that their favorite web-slinger was a high schooler. Spider-Man spoke again.

“You’re probably busy, Mr. Daredevil, I can go if I’m bothering you or something.” He began to stand up, but Matt put out a hand to stop him. 

“Stay for a minute, I wanted to talk to you.” 

(God, that sounded so creepy). 

(Matt was so not qualified to work with any sort of children). 

Spider-Man’s confused gaze burned into the side of Matt’s mask as he settled back down. Even though it didn’t matter to him, Matt turned and readjusted his body so that he was facing Spider-Man. 

“You’re either hurt or upset.” When Spider-Man said nothing he continued. 

“I can’t hear any broken bones or bodily damage, so I’m going to assume it’s the second one. So, what’s wrong?” 

(Okay, so he wasn’ known for being tactful). 

“I’m fine.” Spider-Man’s voice was devoid of all emotion-- a clear indicator that the was anything but. Matt shrugged.

“I can tell that’s not true.” Now Spider-Man shrugged.

“Why should I tell you?” Matt tilted his head to the side, as though he was examining the kid’s face, he felt Spider-Man shift uncomfortably. 

“You don’t have too. But sometimes it helps to talk about it.” 

(What the fuck, Matt? Since when did he talk about feelings)? It was silent for a few beats. Matt was just about to stand up and leave, wish the kid a good night and pray he got home safely when Spider-Man started talking. 

“Do you ever feel like you should be over something, but you’re not? And then something happens and like you can’t breathe because it reminds you too much of the thing that happened before?” 

Admittedly, when Matt had put on the suit that night, he hadn’t been expecting to have a heart-to-heart about PTSD with Spider-Man of all people, so he was a little caught off guard. His silence seemed to worry Spider-Man, who quickly jumped in. 

“Like, hypothetically I mean, not saying that’s what happened.” Spider-Man chuckled awkwardly and Matt felt a small smile grace his lips. 

“PTSD-- or whatever it may be-- is pretty common in this line of work, kid.” 

“It wasn’t from this…” Spider-Man trailed off, seemingly unsure of how to explain. Matt nodded. It was only fair Most vigilantes went through something fucked up enough to lead them to this. 

He told the kid as much. 

Spider-Man nodded and then swallowed, and Matt could swear that he could hear the dryness of the kid’s throat. 

“I just feel like…” The kid trailed off, and the sound of movement made it seem like he had turned away from Matt entirely, a sign of shame. 

“Feel like what?” His voice was softer than Matt ever imagined it could be. 

“I don’t wanna like, put that on you. That’s a lot of, I dunno, emotional labor.” Matt scoffed and shrugged.

“I’m Daredevil, kid-- I can handle it.” Spider-Man took a deep breath. 

“I feel like I should be over it, I mean, it was years ago, but every time something happens it feels like I’m right back where I was before and I can’t do anything about it and feels like I’m going to be stuck forever like this.” 

(And damn, Matt felt that). 

(That’s what he wanted to tell the kid: me too.)

(But he didn’t, instead, he said this). 

“I don’t know if it’s about getting over it. I think it’s about learning to keep going and do the right thing, regardless.” He felt Spider-Man sniffle again. 

“And kid-- I think you’re already halfway there.” Spider-Man smiled. 

“Thank you, Mr. Daredevil.” Matt was about to give some half-assed “don’t worry about it,” when a muffled scream from deep in Hell’s Kitchen stopped his cold. From the way Spider-Man’s body tightened, he heard it too. 

“Duty calls.” He said gruffly as he stood up, Spider-Man stood up with him an tugged the mask on, but Matt stopped him as he rummaged through his pockets.

“Take the night off, Spider-Man.” He protested.

“Queens needs me.” Matt nodded understandingly. 

“Queens does need you, but take the night, I’ll check over it for you.” That seemed to calm the kid. Matt finally found what he was looking for in his pockets. He unfolded the piece of paper and handed it to Spider-Man.

(It was something he thought he would never, ever, do). 

“Nelson and Murdock?” The kid read out loud. Matt shrugged. 

“In case you need anything.” Spider-Man nodded. 

“Thanks…”

“Murdock.” 

“Thanks, Mr. Murdock.” 

“No problem, kid, take care.” Spider-Man nodded, and before Matt could turn around, he whispered.

“I’m Peter.” 

Matt gave him the closest thing to a smile he could muster. 

“I’ll see you around, Peter.” he nodded.

“Yeah, no doubt.” 

And then, he was gone. 

“Yeah,” Peter muttered to himself as he pulled on his mask, shooting a web towards a nearby building, “I’ll see you around.” 

His chest was still heavy with panic and his head still hurt from crying, but it felt like a layer of grime and dirt had been pulled back from his heart. It hadn’t occurred to him yet, even though it had been mentioned by his aunt, uncle, and therapist, that he didn’t need to be over it in order to heal. 

As he climbed through his window, Peter smiled as he stared at the New York skyline. He didn’t need to get over it or move on yet: 

He just had to keep going. 


	19. Day nineteen- Asphyxiation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello all! I hope you like this chapter, even just thinking about asphyxiation makes me feel like I'm going to vomit, so I struggled a bit on this one, it is technically mentioned, but this fic does not revolve around it at all. 
> 
> If you read this without knowing the prompt, you would probably guess the prompt was "head injury" oops. 
> 
> Anyways, it's a long one (2700+ words) and I hope you enjoy it. 
> 
> This is the biggest fic I've written by far, and I wanted to say a huge thank you to everybody who's interacted with it-- it means the world to me, you have no idea.
> 
> Tumblr: spiclergwen

Peter crept almost silently as he followed the older man down into the subway. The man looked both ways before he jumped onto the tracks, and Peter gave him a few seconds of a headstart before he followed. The gravel crunched under his feet as he hit as silently as possible. The man ahead stilled but luckily, did not look back. 

Peter followed him into the tunnel and quickly found himself scuttling up the side of the wall in order to follow silently. The man was wearing dark camo pants and a black turtleneck with some combat boots-- it was the kind of thing that looked so inconspicuous that it made him suspicious. The man blew some of his long black hair out of his face as he continued to march down the tunnel. 

It had been Daredevil who had mentioned the weapons dealers to Peter. He had run into the older man sitting on a rooftop in Queens, as though he was waiting for him. Apparently, Daredevil had something bigger to focus on in Hell’s Kitchen, but he’d asked Peter to keep an eye on these new weapon dealers.

Sort of, really-- he had just alerted Peter, and had let the younger boy decide how to deal with it. 

Suddenly, the man stopped, and Peter stopped almost directly above him. He crept to the edge of the tunnel, where the walls came together. Peter realized that there was a door, and watched as the man opened it. He walked through, and he felt himself breathe out a sigh of relief as the man he was following left the door wide open.

Once again giving the man a headstart, Peter dropped down off of the ceilings and crept into the tunnel. It was like a maze: there seemed to be multiple mini tunnels and the lack of lighting played tricks on the eyes as Peter tip-toed behind the man. 

They took four turns in all, Peter counted in order to find his way back. 

Left.

Left.

Right.

Left. 

On the last turn, the man entered a wide-open room, Peter hopped onto the ceiling and glanced around, doing his best to make himself invisible despite the bright colors of his suit. The room was large and circular, and it was comparatively well lit. It was moldy smelling, and Peter realized they had to be pretty far underground. 

The room was filled with all sorts of weapons, although luckily it didn’t appear to be any sort of alien tech. There was another man in the room, almost identical to the first, except he had a tight blonde buzzcut. They conversed quietly in a language Peter didn’t understand before backing away from each other. The blonde turned and grabbed a gun off of one of the shelves. He re-approached the long-haired man, but before he handed over the weapon, he uttered a phrase that made Peter’s blood run cold. 

“Hail HYDRA.”

Peter quickly turned around and scuttled across the ceiling before the second man could utter any words, suddenly aware of just how out in the open he would be if he was spotted in the corridor. He moved quickly along the ceiling. 

Left.

Left.

Right. 

Left.

He was back out into the open and back onto the ceiling when the man finally exited with the gun in his hand. He tucked it into a holster at his side, and Peter tensed as the man looked almost exactly in his direction. Assuming he was all clear, the man set off again on the tracks, Peter following closely. He sighed as he followed the man.

Contrary to what would be assumed, Peter actually had very few intentions of attempting to take down either a weapons dealer or HYDRA by himself. After the fiasco of homecoming, Peter had learned the value of asking for help, and as he and Mr. Stark got closer, it became a lot easier to ask.

His plan was just to gather information, and then to bring it to Mr. Stark and the Avengers. 

This was a them problem, not a Friendly Neighborhood Spider-Man problem. 

Once the man had safely climbed back onto the subway platform, he became easier to track. He kept to high up buildings as he followed. The man weaved through the streets of New York, taking a shockingly familiar pattern until he reached a high rise apartment building. 

Left.

Left.

Right.

Left. 

The man entered the building, and Peter wondered how he could best follow. Luckily, he didn’t have to think about it for long, as the roof access door swung open and the man stepped out. Peter ducked behind a chimney on the roof next door as the man looked around. Deeming the room all clear, he shouted behind him something that sounded suspiciously like “all clear.” 

A woman dressed in a similar camo getup followed him up, and she kicked the door closed with her feet as she walked towards the man. They nodded another Hail HYDRA at each other before the man pulled the gun out of the holster, Peter found himself inching closer. 

“It should be perfect for the Paris Plan.” The woman nodded as she took the gun from him, inspecting it closely. She did not seem to be listening as the man listed off the gun’s stats, too enthralled in the gun as she twirled it between her fingerprints. She aimed the gun downwards and curled her fingers around the trigger, but she did not pull. 

Suddenly, she cut the man off my forcing the gun towards him. He fumbled but caught it as she spoke with a heavy accent Peter couldn’t quite place.

“I don’t want this one.” 

“But it’s--”

“I. Don’t. Want. This. One.” The man nodded numbly as the woman turned away from him and marched back towards the door, boots clicking against the roof as she did so. The man stood dumbfounded as she disappeared, and Peter took it as the best time to act. 

He swung onto the rooftop behind the man and quickly shot a web at the door, keeping it from being a form of escape.

“I gotta say man-- Hydra is soooooo 1940s.” The man whipped towards Peter and charged. Peter sidestepped just in time for the man to miss as he went sprawling across the roof. 

He lunged at Peter, and he wasn’t so lucky this time as the man got him by the legs. They tumbled to the ground together, but Peter was quickly able to get the upper hand. He pushed himself off the man and reached for the gun that had fallen out when the man tackled him. He threw it towards the wall and webbed it safely there. 

“Is an underground weapons dealer even that profitable? I mean, it’s pretty easy to get a gun here.” The man let out an animalistic growl, he rammed towards Peter and managed to get a well-timed kick to the stomach. 

Peter felt the air leave his lungs, once he was on the ground, the man acted quicker: punching and kicking until Peter was lying flat on his back. His lip was split and he could feel bruises blossoming along his arm and stomach, but the damage didn’t seem too bad. He stayed down until the man turned around and began to walk away. 

Quickly, Peter lunged for the man, knocking him onto the ground, he reached for his wrist, ready to web his arms and legs together, but it a moment of blood-chilling realization, he found that the cans of fluid were both empty. He sighed as he punched the man, hoping to at least knock him out long enough for the Avengers to deal with it; however, the lack of webbing distracted him and he missed. 

While he was distracted by his webshooters, the man jumped up, flipping them both over until they were almost near the edge of the building. Peter caught the man’s kick, and flipped backward, leaving his feet on the edge of the roof. 

The man crowed him as he realized how close Peter was to the edge. Peter continued to dodge his punches but missed the kick that knocked his legs out from under him. Before he could regain his balance, the man pushed him, and Peter fell back, his fingers grasping onto the ledge of the roof. 

The man sneered down at him as Peter tried to kick his feet against the building in an attempt to gain some balance. He stepped over to Peter. 

“What is it with Superheros and not minding their own business?” He asked as he stared down at Peter. He panted slightly as he tried to hold up his body by his fingertips.

“I mean-- I think it is my business?” The man shook his head.

“It was rhetorical.” Before Peter could utter another quip, the man stepped on Peter’s left hand with his combat boots. The pain seared up Peter’s arm and down his entire body as he bit back a cry. He squeezed his eyes shut with pain. 

The man placed his other boot on Peter’s fingers and for a moment he just stood there, neither of them spoke. Peter felt instant relief as the man stepped off of his fingers and bent down. He let out a sigh as the fresh air hit his hands, but it turned out to be a bad move. The relief left his so distracted that he didn’t realize until a second too late that the man was pulling his fingers off the building. 

His left hand was caught in the man’s hand, and despite Peter’s super strength, he couldn’t fight back without letting go of the building. The man used his other hand to pull Peter’s other wrist away from the building.

“Bye-bye, Spider-Man-- send a message to the Avengers, won’t you?” And then he was  _ falling.  _

It didn’t matter that Peter had a parachute, the fall happened too quickly for him or Karen to even realize what was happening in time to deploy it. The wind rushed in his ears as he fell past windows. The ground was getting closer, and closer and closer and… 

Peter crash-landed onto the asphalt below. Pain spread through his entire body but for a second, he didn’t care. The pain felt dulled as his brain begin to buzz like TV static. Distantly, he could tell there was blood dripping down the back of his neck, but he was too focused on the buzzing to care.

“Peter--” A voice cut through the static as the buildings above Peter began to move, “Would you like me to contact Mr. Stark?” Peter just stared at the buildings as they wiggled, Peter sighed as the clouds began to move too, following the same pattern.

Left. 

Left.

Right. 

Left. 

It sounded as though a voice was talking to him, but Peter couldn’t make out what they were saying, the ringing in his ear growing louder because the buildings were moving.

That made sense, right? 

“...Peter…” Peter tried to move his feet, but he couldn’t feel them, his whole body felt like it was ringing like his ears. 

“...Answer me…” He heard the sound of something big, mechanical, maybe an airplane? Peter didn’t like airplanes. 

“...I’ll be there in two minutes, okay?” Peter seemed to register that somebody was talking to him, but he couldn’t figure out what they were saying, he attempted to point up at the sky, but he couldn’t see his arms. 

“Airplane?” he whispered quietly as dark spots began to grow across his vision. 

It was like a reverse fireworks show, instead of light brightening up the dark sky, Peter watched darkness infest the sky and slowly overtake him. The ringing never stopped. 

He came too as Tony Stark was hitting the ground in the Ironman armor and running towards his kid, heart caught in his throat as he eyes the pool of blood that was growing dark and red around Peter’s head, and that was ignoring all the bones that seemed to be out of whack. Peter didn’t even notice the man rushing towards him as he felt bile crawl up his throat. 

Suddenly, he was vomiting, stomach bile not quite makes it out of his mouth. It fell back and Peter struggled to spit it out, choking as Tony leaned down next to him. 

“Okay, Underoos-- let’s get you back to the compound, yeah?” He positioned one arm behind Peter’s back in an attempt to help him sit up, and he almost vomited himself when Peter coughed up stomach bile and blood into his lap. Tony helped lug the kid up, but Peter couldn’t even stand as he swayed on the spot. His head back, as though it was too heavy for his neck. 

Tony lifted Peter bridal style and immediately set off towards the compound. He sent a quick message to Helen Cho to have a room prepped for the Spider-Kid. 

He flew directly into the helipad for medbay and rushed Peter in, trying to ignore the way one arm of the suit was wet with Peter’s blood. Helen bustled out of her office and pointed Tony to a room, her face white as she looked at Peter. 

Tony placed Peter on the bed and Cho sighed as she ushered him out of the room.

“I need to work, go get him a change of clothes, he’ll want it.” Tony trudged off to do that, and immediately sighed when he returned and realized the medbay was locked.

“Sorry boss,” Friday had told him, not sounding sorry at all, “Dr. Cho requests that you stay out until she says.” Tony nodded in defeat as he slumped into one of the chairs near the door. 

It had almost crossed the four-hour mark when the doors to the medbay finally opened. Cho looked exhausted as Tony jumped to his feet. 

“Is it all good?” Tony asked as Cho wordlessly led him towards Peter’s room. 

“A couple of broken bones, no big deal.” She stopped just shy of Peter’s closed door as she eyed Tony. It was obvious she was gearing up for the bad news.

“But his head injury…” She shook her head.

“It’s bad, Tony-- like, really bad.” Tony opened his mouth to interrupt, but Cho continued. 

“Like, we had to call his Aunt and get permission sort of bad.” Tony nodded, not daring himself to speak. 

“He ha a concussion and it wasn’t responding to anything: not any meds, not elevation, not oxygen therapy… but the swelling was happening so quickly we had to do something, so we performed a decompressive craniectomy.” Tony cocked his head to the side.

“I know I’m a genius…” he joked weakly, “but I’m not a doctor.” Dr. Cho tucked a fallen piece of hair behind her ear.

“Basically, we removed part of his skill.” Tony froze. 

“He’ll be okay?” He asked carefully. Helen nodded.

“He’ll be unconscious for several days, maybe even a week. He’ll have to wear a helmet for a while to prevent further damage but he should be fine. We saved the part we removed, hopefully, we’ll be able to put it back after he recovers.” 

“Damn,” Tony muttered weakly, unsure of what else to say. Cho shrugged and pointed towards the door.

“You’re of course welcome to go see him. His aunt should be here soon.” Tony nodded. 

“Thanks, Helen.” She nodded curtly.

“I’ll be back to check on him very soon.” She turned around and returned to her office, shutting her door behind her. 

Tony pushed open Peter’s door and stepped into the room quietly, even though he knew the kid was fast asleep. He sat Peter’s change of clothes on the bedside table as he weaved between the many machines that surronded Peter.

The bruises on his face were almost completely healed, and even though his skin was paler than normal, if it wasn’t for the large chunk of hair that had been shaved from his head, Tony could’ve been convinced he was just asleep. 

He resisted the urge to pushed Peter’s hair out of his face as he sat down next to him. He grabbed the kid’s hand, careful to avoid the IV that was stuck into the top of his wrist. He rubbed gentle circles into Peter’s palm as he watched him breathe. 

Tony sighed again. 

“Peter, kid,” he muttered finally, “you can’t do shit like that to me, I have a weak heart, ya’ know?” He chuckled weakly as Peter didn’t even stir. He pulled Peter’s hand to his lips and kissed it gently. 

“I love you, Pete.” Again, Peter didn’t respond. Tony immediately resolved to tell Peter that when he woke up, but for now, he knew, and that was enough. 


	20. Day twenty- Trembling

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter just wants Tony to understand. 
> 
> aka, 
> 
> the first time Peter calls him "Tony."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Choo Choo! All aboard the angsty dialogue train! No, but seriously, dialogue is my favorite thing to write. If I could exclusively write dialogue fics, I probably would, but something tells me that wouldn't be all that interesting to read. 
> 
> Here's a fun fact about me: I write all these prompts in about 1-2 hours and in one go, so I'm tired by the time they're done (they're the last thing I do before bed too) as a result, I end of writing chapter notes before I write the thing, so if they're not accurate to the story, that's why. I try sometimes to make it sounded like I know what's about to happen in my beginning notes but honestly, I don't. 
> 
> I still haven't decided if I'm giving this a fluffy ending or not. We'll see (edit from post-writing me: it's not a fluffy ending). 
> 
> I can't decide if this will be two parts or not, I think it will be because I want to resolve this conflict, let me know if you want me to continue this. If it is a part 2, it will be related to chapter 26 (prompt: abandoned). 
> 
> Sorry this note is so long, anyways: does this count at Tony whump too? I think it might. 
> 
> Tumblr: spiclergwen

Tony was in a meeting and looking for any excuse to get out of it when he got the call. His phone rang, and he shot up from his seat quickly to take the call. During meetings, Tony’s phone would only ring if Pepper, Rhodey, Peter or may was calling him, and he knew they would only call him if it was something serious. 

He stalked out into the hallway, ignoring the furious looks from board members that were no doubt thrown his way. He leaned up against the wall in the hallway as he pulled his phone out of the pockets of his suit. The picture of him and Peter from when he had given the kid an official internship flashed on his screen. He quickly picked up. 

“Hey, Pete- what’s up?” 

“Oh, Hey Mr. Stark,” Peter’s voice sounded strained and Tony could hear the movement in the background. “Uh-- not much, Karen said I had to call you since I got stabbed.” Peter quickly hurried to finish his statement before Tony could interrupt. 

“It’s really not that bad, it didn’t hit anything important and the knife fell out, so it’s really not a big deal.” Tony sighed and rubbed his fingers against his temples. He swore that the kid was dedicated to giving him gray hairs. 

“Come to the tower, kid.” He heard the faint sound of Peter firing one of his webshooters. 

“It really isn’t that bad.”

“This isn’t really debatable.” Now it was Peter’s time to sigh.

“Yeah, okay, I’ll be there in a few.” With that, Peter hung up. Once he was left with silence once again, Tony leaned his head against the wall and closed his eyes, taking a few breaths before he opened them again. 

Quickly he texted Pepper- “kid shot. Won’t be back.” He didn’t even turn to look back at the conference room behind him before he was leaving. He headed down to his lab, ordering Friday to open the window the kid usually swung through, pulling the first aid kit out of one of the counters, knowing Peter would refuse to go to medical unless it was completely necessary. 

He sat down in his chair and put in his head in his hands. He tried to stay calm, but he was quickly devolving into a puddle of anxiety. It was ridiculous how often they did this-- Peter was more than capable, but he was too trusting, always assuming that people were better than they were. Tony realized that it was Peter’s nature, but it took ten years off of Tony’s life alone. 

It was unfair to Peter, and Tony realized that, but he felt his anxiety devolve into anger. It was crazy really, just how trusting Peter was. He was filled with this warm, bubbling energy, and while it was endearing as Peter Parker, Tony swore it would get Spider-Man killed. It was ridiculous: if Peter could trust just a _ little  _ less if he could be just a  _ tad _ bit meaner, Tony would probably be in this situation a lot less. 

By the time Peter swung through the window, Tony had felt the anger bubble up to the surface, quietly simmering underneath his skin. Peter wordless hopped up onto the workbench next to the first aid kit, deflating his suit to reveal the stab would in his left shoulder. He seemed to be able to tell something was wrong. 

That was the problem with Tony Stark’s anger: it wasn’t quiet. Like a gas, his anger grew as it heated up, filling up the room until he was practically choking on it. It flowed through him and into his movements. He quietly dressed Peter’s stab wound. The kid had been right: it was shallow, and nothing serious had been damaged. 

Once he pulled away, Peter wasted no time in pulling the suit back on and jumping off the workbench. 

“Thanks, Mr. Stark.” His voice lacked it’s usual brightness, as though he could tell that he was tip-toeing around Tony’s anger. Tony nodded, determined to let the kid go, to let himself calm down before he attempted to have this conversation. 

But his anger was bubbling up into his throat, spilling out of his mouth like lava, his voice was soft, but every word was laced with unmistakable fury. 

“You have to think this is a little ridiculous, Peter?” Peter turned back to face him, tugging off the mask as he did so. As Tony looked at Peter’s face-- curly brown hair spilling falling into his eyes, his too-young face reading confused and a touch scared-- he almost backed out, but he couldn’t, not now that he started. 

Peter shrugged, and Tony felt his anger rise more, the tendrils of his rage wrapping themselves around his brain and squeezing.

“What do you mean, Mr. Stark?” Peter’s voice was soft like he was trying to avoid making the situation worse, it made Tony’s chest ache, and distantly he realized how heartbreaking it was that Peter immediately tried to offset Tony’s bad mood, tried to deflect it away from himself, despite not having a clear idea why Tony was mad at him in the first place. 

“You-- getting stabbed or shot or falling off buildings so fucking often!” Tony didn’t mean to raise his voice, but it crawled upwards anyways. Peter almost flinched away, his eyes turned downwards, but he held strong. 

“Yeah, I mean it sucks but it’s a part of the job, ya’ know?” Tony could tell Peter was being honest, but in his anger fogged brain, Peter’s acceptance just exploded the anger that was already floating inside of him.

“No, Peter, I don’t know.” His words were hard and they caused Peter to squeeze his eyes shut as Tony stepped towards him, “It’s just… shit like this wouldn’t happen if you weren’t soo nice about it.” Peter took a step back, and Tony almost missed his quiet sniffle. He licked his lips before he spoke. 

“I uh…. I don’t think that’s true.” His voice was almost a whisper and Tony felt himself almost roll his eyes. 

“Really, Peter? If you would stop giving people chances, or giving them outs-- they wouldn’t have near as many opportunities.” 

“That’s literally not true.” Peter’s voice was unsteady, and it was clear he was holding back tears, but something like confidence seeped into his tone. 

“Yes, it is!” Tony threw his arms up in anger, completely missing the way Peter scuttled backward as his arms swung towards him, “shit like this wouldn’t happen if you wouldn’t be so optimistic and throw changes at people!” He stared at Peter as he finished, trying to ignore the way his chest was heaving. 

“‘Shit like this,’” Peter created quation marks with his fingers as he raised his head to look at Tony, his eyes filled with unshed tears, “would happen as long as I put on this suit-- people don’t stab me because I’m “too nice” or whatever, they would try and hurt me so long as I was in the way of what they wanted.” His voice was colder than Tony had ever heard it.

“How people treat me, isn’t on me Mr. Stark-- it’s on them.” Tony took a deep breath in an attempt to calm himself, but it wasn’t successful.

“You’re too optimistic, Peter-- you wouldn’t get it.” He eyed Peter, and tried to push down the guilt that rose through his anger as the younger boy tried to wipe away his tears without them being noticeable.

“Try me.” Peter shrugged in an attempt to come off as nonchalant and unbothered, but the subtle trembling of his shoulders and the tears streaming down his cheeks contracted it. 

“You’re too young to get it, kid-- you haven’t seen the horrors of the world yet.” Tony’s rage was red-hot and burning. It was anger like a forest fire: Smoky, dark, destructive. Peter was trembling, but he raised his head to meet Tony’s eyes anyway. His brown eyes were filled with tears and before he took an unsteady breath before he spoke.

“Yes, I have.” Peter was the opposite of Tony, his anger was like a river: cold and wet, rushing through every pore in his body, filling him with something not unlike dread. “And..” A tremor ran through his chest, crashing into him like a wave, “and you know that.” He jerked his head in a shockingly defiant movement.

“My parents died before I could start the first grade, I underwent some of the worst trauma you could imagine when I was nine, my uncle was shot and killed in front of me-- my hands are  _ covered _ in his blood,” Peter’s voice was shaking by now, and Tony felt the anger drain from his body in a cataclysmic rush, but Peter continued on,

“I got freaky spider powers and before I could even use them they almost _ killed _ me. I’ve had a building dropped on me, I crashed a plane and I’ve almost drowned.” Peter fumbled with the mask in his hands, sniffling and wiping furiously at his eyes. 

“I’ve seen the world. I may be young but I’m not a child, Tony.” The words flew out of his mouth like a sort of venom, and they landed harshly on the floor between them. Peter tugged the mask over his face and turned towards the window. 

“If that’s all too ridiculous for you, I get it, but nobody forced you to be a part of this.” Peter swung through the window before Tony could even process what had just happened. He stumbled backward and fell into his office chair, now that his anger had evaporated, the room felt freezing. He asked Friday to close the window and dropped his head against his desk. 

He realized how monumentally he had just fucked-up. And why? Because he was worried about the kid’s wellbeing? The realization pressed down on his chest like a panic attack: he was  _ worried _ about the kid, so he got  _ mad _ at him? 

God, he sounded just like Howard. 

. . . 

Peter’s movement was unsteady as his entire body shook. He swung through his window, and once he caught his balance, he noticed the sticky note stuck to his door. His steps were heavy and unsteady as he made his way over to it. In a curvy, light font it read: “Peter- I took a night shift, money for take-out is on the counter. Try to get some sleep. xoxo, May.” He felt his body sag, a wave of relief washing over him as he realized that he was alone. 

He pulled off his suit, his movements uncoordinated as he changed into his pajamas and landed on his bed, face first. There was a single beat, and suddenly Peter was sobbing into his pillow. Loud, gut-wrenching sobs that took up the whole of his chest. He wrapped his arms around his waist and hugged himself as his body shook. He cried until his sobs declined into soft whimpers, and then he laid there for god knows how much longer, ignoring the ringing of his phone.

By the time he pulled himself up, his eyes hurt, red and puffy from all the crying. He looked at the clock on his bedside, realizing that it had been a few hours since he had gotten home. He sighed pulled his knees to his chest as he grabbed his phone. 

He had twelve texts from Ned, but he ignored them in favor of looking at his other notifications. There was a text from May, asking if he was home yet. He sent her a quick “yes” as his eyes traveled further downwards, and he felt his heart stop as he saw the twenty-two missed calls from Mr. Stark.

Mr. Stark.

Peter had over-reacted, probably. But he was just so tired of being treated like he didn’t understand what he was doing: he did! He had seen the horrors of the world just like every other superhero had, but people could never look past his age and his optimistic nature. 

Peter had thought Mr. Stark was different. 

He didn’t even know what he had done to upset the man, he thought back through the last couple of weeks, and he genuinely couldn’t pinpoint a single thing he had done wrong. He felt cursed, in a way, it was like every single person he cared about left for some reason or another, either they died or Peter pushed them away. 

_ Maybe he finally realized that you’re more trouble than your worth? _ Peter’s voice echoed. Peter ignored the urge to melt into the thoughts, trying to push it away. He looked back at his phone to see what Ned had texted him. The messages spanned the last hour or so.

**Nedward: ** whats the english hw? 

**Nedward:** the spideywatch twitter says u havent been out today are u not patrolling 2day

**Nedward:** hey peter is everything good

**Nedward:** hey 

**Nedward:** peter 

**Nedward:** hey

**Nedward: ** plz text me ur freaking me out rn

**Nedward: ** seriously Tony Stark ™ texted me to ask about u r u good

**Nedward:** he seemed really worried about you

**Nedward: ** and he never seems worried about anything ever so now im worried 2

**Nedward: ** i told him i hadnt heard from u

**Nedward:** i hope ur ok

Peter screwed his eyes shut before responding.

**Peter:** its chapters 2 and 3 of pride and prejudice. 

**Peter:** im fine. u can tell tony that. 

**Peter:** ill talk to u tmmrw. 

With that, Peter plugged his phone in and silenced it before crawling into bed. He hugged himself again. 

_ It’s fine. It’s fine. It’s fine.  _ He repeated to himself as he settled in. 

He just wished he could believe it. 


	21. Day twenty one- Laced drink

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Honestly, Peter thinks these gala things are pretty stupid.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi I'm tired and I literally cannot believe there are only 10 days left? wild. 
> 
> This was a hard one because realistically, Peter probably would be immune to any sort of laced drink b/c spider metabolism? So if you could just like... pretend that's not the case, I would really appreciate it. Also, I'm aware that this villain has literally zero named reasons for doing what he's doing but uh... just work with the storyline in FFH, I guess. 
> 
> Anyways, I love the Peter calls Tony "dad" trope, but I don't think it's all that realistic, so here's my version of that.

If Peter had learned anything, it was this: Galas, even when science-themed, were super boring. In fact, he was pretty confident that was why he had been brought along in the first place. It was during one of their recent lab days that Mr. Stark (or Tony, as he begged Peter to call him) had brought up a gala happening at the New York Hall of Science, and had invited Peter to come along with him. 

He had told Peter that “it would be good practice” for when he “ran Stark Industries.” a statement that had stopped Peter dead in his tracks for a good few minutes. However, Mr. Stark had also mentioned that galas were incredibly boring, and Tony would really appreciate having somebody he actually liked to keep him company while he suffered. 

At the time, Peter had just rolled his eyes at Tony’s behavior, but he had agreed to go anyways. Which brought him to where he was now. The hall he stood in was ridiculously fancy-- large golden chandeliers hung from the ceiling and Peter’s leather shoes clicked across the marble floor as he walked. There was a bar on either end of the room and he could tell that there were people handing out tickets to explore the rest of the exhibits. 

He looked over at Tony, who gave Peter a grateful smile, “Thanks for agreeing to suffer with me, kid.” Peter smiled back at shrugged.

“I mean, somebody has too, I guess,” Tony smirked at him before grabbing his wrist and pulling him towards a table. 

“At least this way I get to brag about you to everybody I see.” Peter had to resist the urge to groan. 

“You really don’t need to do that, Mr. Stark.” Peter felt his cheeks warm up was Tony shook his head. 

“I definitely do, Underoos.” 

. . .

Tony had been right-- galas were definitely boring. Peter had the same conversation with every single person he encountered, and eventually, it got a little old continually telling everybody that yes, he went to Midtown, and yes, he was fifteen. Tony seemed to be enjoying it greatly, though. Peter couldn’t help but blush at the look of pride that would grace Tony’s features every single time he would rattle off another one of Peter’s achievements to whatever investor they were talking too. 

After it felt like Tony had shaken hands with every single person in attendance, they made there way over to the bar, both thirsty from the constant conversation and movement. Just a few steps short of the bar, Tony froze. Peter froze as well as he turned towards his mentor, his eyes glued to the bartender. 

“Oh my god, wow.” Was all Tony said when he finally gained his voice back. Peter shot him a confused look, and Tony quickly explained. 

“That bartender used to work for Stark Industries.” He shrugged, “he was a smart guy, but he was a tad bit crazy.” Peter turned to stare at the bartender as well, he definitely didn’t  _ look _ crazy. But Peter knew that looks could be deceiving. 

“What’s his name?” Peter asked, cocking his head to the side, Tony pursed his lips as the thought about it. 

“I think it started with a Q, and his last name was Peck? Beck? Something like that.” Peter nodded as Tony pulled him towards the bar again. The bartender served them but seemed to recognize Tony immediately as he passed Peter his lemonade. 

“Mr. Stark.” The bartender greeted as Tony peered at his name tag through his sunglasses. 

“Mr. Beck.” Tony nodded, “Long time no see, how’s life been treating you?” 

“It’s been good, actually--” Peter drowned out the rest of the small talk as the two men caught up, his eyes darting around the room, trying to ignore the warnings of danger that were shooting up and down his spine. 

“--And this is Peter.” Tony introduced him as Mr. Beck shook his hand, Peter was desperately trying to ignore the warnings of his spider-sense as he once again listened to Mr. Stark gush about him. He interjected a few times, usually to explain something, or shoot down one of Tony’s many praises for his work. 

During a lull in the conversation, Tony excused himself to the restroom, leaving Peter alone with Mr. Beck. The older man nudged Peter’s near-empty glass with his fingers. 

“Another?” Peter nodded.

“Oh uh… yes please, thank you!” Mr. Beck gave him a half-smile, something dark flashing in his eyes as Peter felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. Peter went back towards looking around the room, still in complete awe that the was even here. He never once looked at Mr. Beck while he was making his drink (this, he knows, was his mistake). 

Mr. Beck pushed the drink over the counter to Peter just as Tony returned. The second he saw Peter, he placed a hand on his shoulder and began leading him away. 

“Pete-- Reed Richards is here, you’ve got to meet him!” He threw a quick wave over his shoulder as Tony lead him away, taking a sip as he did so. Before he could raise the glass to his lips, there was a wave of panic that washed over his body, but Peter dismissed it, blaming his overactive spider-sense on the sheer volume of people in the room. 

He felt a change almost immediately. Suddenly, it was like he had just run a marathon, he was literally exhausted. He blinked hard a couple of times, trying to push away the wave of sudden tiredness. 

Despite his sudden desire to take a long, long, long nap, he was immediately sucked into his conversation with Dr. Richards, as the two of them gushed over the latest NASA exploration. His lemonade was only half-drunk when Tony pulled him away, and the second he was standing on his own two feet again, he noticed the difference. 

He was unsteady on his feet, and he was dizzy even as he stood still. He clutched Tony’s arm, setting his drink down. He thought as clearly and quickly as he could, and suddenly, his drowsiness mixed with the screaming of his spidey-sense all began to make sense. 

Tony turned to him, concern etched across his face as he stared at Peter.

“You okay, bud? You look a little pale.” Peter took a deep breath in an attempt to calm himself, knowing that if he freaked out, Tony would freak out too. He looked Tony in the eye, and as calmly as he could he asked: 

“How do you know if you’ve been drugged?” He cocked his head to one side as he watched the gears turn in Tony’s head. He looked at Peter, then down at the table, and then back to the bar until realization slowly started to draw across his face. 

“I’m gonna call Happy.” Peter nodded as Tony took him by the shoulder once again and quickly lead him out of the gala. Happy’s car appeared almost as soon as they stepped out, and they wasted no time. 

“Everything good, boss?” Happy asked gruffly as he watched Tony crawl into the back seat beside Peter. Tony nodded, sunglasses still on despite the late hour. 

“Uh yeah. Hey! Can you take us right to the medbay entrance instead of the private one?” Happy simply nodded, knowing that it wasn’t worth it to ask any more questions. Despite not having details, he stepped on the gas, making it to the tower as quickly as he could. 

Once they reached the tower, he watched as Tony helped Peter out of the car. The kid seemed to be physically fine, but he was almost swaying as he walked in with Tony, as though he was half asleep. 

Tony sat Peter down on a bed in the medbay as Dr. Cho bustled in behind him, a test already ready to go. Tony excused himself momentarily to give the kid some privacy, explaining that the need to call the kid’s aunt.

He held his phone up to his ear as paced around the medbay’s waiting room, it didn’t take long for the woman on the other end to pick up. 

“Hello?” 

“Hello May, it’s Tony.”

“Oh, Tony! How was the gala?” Tony shuddered, trying to figure out exactly what to say next. Something told him that “oh it was great, the kid might’ve been drugged though.” wasn’t exactly the right response.

“It was boring, but they all are. I um… I just thought I should let you know…” Tony already felt like he had done everything wrong, but it was too late now, “Peter might’ve been drugged-- he’s totally okay and we’re testing to make sure, but I uh… thought you’d want to know.” The line was silent.

“I can send Happy to come to pick you up if you’d like.” 

“Of course I want Happy to come to pick me up. I’ll grab him a change of clothes.” Tony nodded before realizing she couldn’t see him.

“Okay, sounds good-- sorry about this.” He could hear May sigh. 

“It’s not the worst thing you’ve called me with.” Despite her casual tone, Tony felt himself wince at her words. 

“See you soon, May.” 

“See you soon, Tony.” 

No sooner had he turned around then Dr. Cho was bustling out of one of the testing rooms, headed straight for Tony. She stopped a few feet from him and sighed ignoring all traditional greetings. 

“We should be grateful for his metabolism, he’s wore half of it off already.” She shrugged as Tony peered at her. 

“What’s ‘it’ in this scenario?” Cho flipped a page on her clipboard.

“I’d have to do more specific testing to be completely sure, but a quick glance makes it look like Rohypnol. He’s asleep now since he’s safe, it’s the best way to let him wear it off. He should be completely fine in a few hours.” Tony nodded, grateful that it wasn’t anything too serious.

(But still serious, of course, he couldn’t forget that somebody had  _ drugged his fucking kid _ ). 

He gave Cho a nodding of thanks before heading back towards Peter’s room. She stopped him.

“He shouldn’t wake up for a few hours, but if he does-- just know he might be a tad bit out of it. Waking up with drugs like that still in your system can be a bit confusing.” Tony nodded numbly again as he pushed through the door into Peter’s room. 

Cho was right-- the kid was firmly asleep. He laid in the fetal position, curled in on himself as he slept. Tony knew they were lucky-- there were no IVs, no beeping machinery to act as some sort of deadly reminder. It was actually pretty peaceful.

So, of course, it had to be ruined. 

Peter shifted in his sleep ever so slightly. Tony stared at him as shifted again. Tony knew he wasn’t supposed to be up for at least a few more hours, but Peter was prone to doing the impossible. 

His whole body jerked a final time, and then his eyes slowly blinked open. He blinked hard a couple of times as his eyes landed on Tony. He watched as Peter’s brows knit together in confusion as he stared at the older man, as though he couldn’t quite place him. Tony had a good few jokes running through his mind, a series of greetings he could use to lighten the mood. 

But he never got to use any of them, as Peter finally spoke, Tony felt the blood drain from his face. 

Peter made no effort to push himself out of bed, his eyes trained on Tony, as though he had suddenly realized exactly who he was. 

“Uncle Ben?” 


	22. Day twenty two- Halluncination

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When Tony snapped, he saw a vision. 
> 
> When Peter snapped, he saw a vision.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's two versions of this story because neither was long enough and I thought, "fuck it." I left it open-ended on purpose, so it's up to you to decide if anybody actually dies in this fic. 
> 
> I totally forgot about Morgan, sorry about that too. 
> 
> Tumblr: spiclergwen

_ One.  _

The whole thing was a blur, really: Strange was holding up one trembling finger, and then Tony’s body was almost moving on autopilot as he swiped the stones from Thanos gauntlet. The battle seemed to still completely as all eyes turned towards him and Thanos, the two of them suddenly becoming the center of the battle. 

The center of the Earth, really. 

Tony barely heard Thanos’ “I am inevitable” before he was raising his own hand as well, uttering out what he believed to be his final words as the power of the stones coursed through his body. It hurt so much like there were bees running through his bloodstream instead of blood. All he could focus on was his wish, he couldn’t think about Pepper or Rhodey or Peter. He had to keep himself focused on making sure Thanos’ army dusted away. 

He fell to the ground almost immediately after he snapped. He could hear the sound of voices surrounding him, but his eyes couldn’t focus on anything, he felt his vision slowly fade to black. 

. . . 

. . .

. . .

The next thing he knew, he was floating. At least he thought he was. It was like he was caught in a sunset, purples, pinks, and oranges filled the ground and the sky, and he couldn’t distinguish up from down as he floated through. 

It was incredibly peaceful, really. Everything was quiet but Tony swore he could make out the sound of waves crashing against an invisible wall. The sunset he seemed to be walking on was moving ever so slightly as moved around, swaying gently, as though there was a soft breeze.

Maybe there was, Tony couldn’t tell. He felt strangely detached from his body. 

It was calm, peaceful, serene, every word you could think of, but that was probably, wasn’t it? 

Tony Stark didn’t do peaceful. 

He floated around for what felt like hours, maybe even seconds. He couldn’t tell and he couldn’t find it in himself to care. He was lost in a state of dreaminess, unable to think about everything that had just happened. 

He sat down, and the sky seemed to support him. It was filled with an odd sense of nothingness. It didn’t feel hard or soft, it just felt like air. He sat there for a while, unsure of what to do before a voice called out to him. 

“Mr. Stark?” 

He turned to face the voice, and almost immediately felt his eyes well up with tears as he found Peter Parker. Peter didn’t say anything as he came to sit down by Tony, he just sat across from him and crossed his legs. 

Peter wasn’t wearing the iron spider suit, no, he was wearing the same stupid science tt shirt he had been wearing when he turned down the avengers. Despite the tears already running down his face, he found himself smiling as he looked upon his son. 

“So this is it, yeah?” Peter asked he didn’t sound mad, or disappointed. He even had a small smile gracing his face as he looked at Tony, wiping the tears from his eyes. 

“I don’t want it to be,” Tony replied, trying to match the kid’s shockingly calm tone. Peter inched closer to him, but Tony realized that he couldn’t seem to pass some sort of invisible wall that fluttered between them. 

“I um… I hope it isn’t,” Peter licked his teeth before continuing, “but if it is ya’ know… that’s okay.” He swiped at the tears that were running much faster now. 

“You’ve done so many amazing things, Tony. I mean you’ve saved the world on so many occasions and like,” Peter began to flail his hands around the way Tony knew he did when he got nervous, “if you’re tired and don’t wanna do this anymore, I totally get it.”

Tony nodded again, and once again tried to reach out for Peter before the film blocked his way. 

“I can come back and not be a hero, Pete.” Peter scoffed lightly, and Tony could tell he was putting a lot of effort into keeping the grin on his face. 

“Could you?” He asked. Tony shrugged.

“I think I could try.” 

“Would you even want too? I mean, God only knows what shape you’re in right now.” Tony nodded.

“If I could, I would.” Suddenly tears were falling down his face, hot and fast.

“Even if I didn’t come back as Ironman, I want to see you graduate and go to college and get married and lead the Avengers and do all the amazing things I know you can do.” Peter looked away then when he turned back towards Tony, the smile had fallen from his face and he seemed unable to hide his sadness.

“I don’t have much time. Or really, I guess you don’t have much time. It’s your call.” Tony eyed him curiously.

“How are you here?” Peter shrugged.

“I’m not, really. Your subconscious wanted me to be here, so I am. But the real me is back on Earth.” 

“What is the real you doing?” Peter screwed up his eyes in concentration. 

“He’s crying.” Tony nodded. Suddenly, he felt his entire body sag with exhausting, as though somebody had cut his strings and all his emotions from the last fifty years pressed down on his chest at once, squeezing all the air from his lungs. It hit him suddenly, that this was it. That he really had the opportunity to rest-- he had done what he believed he had to do. Peter nodded knowingly and answered the question Tony had been too afraid to ask. 

“I won’t be mad,” when Tony said nothing he continued, “if you move on, I mean. I am so grateful, Tony really. I don’t know what I would’ve done without you. You deserve to rest. If you want that, I won’t stop you.” 

He stared into Peter’s eyes, taking in the large hazel gaze that met his own. Unable to even think about the decision ahead of him, he said what immediately came to mind. 

“I’m so proud of you, Peter,” he held up a hand to keep the boy from interrupting, “and I love you so fucking much kid you don’t even know.” Peter held a hand to his eyes, finally breaking Tony’s gaze.” 

“I love you too, Tony.” Tony nodded again trying to push towards Peter. Who looked at him with sad eyes. 

“I have to go.” He said finally, pushing himself back up. He turned towards Tony and smiled, a real, genuine Peter Parker smile. It felt like home, like movie marathons and medbay visits and parent-teacher conferences and lab days. Even in the bright light of wherever they were, Peter shined like the sun, his energy bursting around him. 

“I’ll uh… see you sooner or later.” 

Everything Tony wanted to say died on the tip of his tongue as Peter turned away, all his thoughts about love and safety and rest and the future wilted away and died as he looked at his kid. 

“Yeah. You will.” 

_ Two.  _

It felt like everybody was circling Thanos and Peter. Realistically, Peter knew that wasn’t true, but as he felt his hand conform to the gauntlet he had found lying in the rubble, it felt true. It happened both in slow motion and all at once as he slowly pulled the last stone away from Thanos. It took all his concentration to focus on Thanos’ words before he placed the last stone.

“I am inevitable.” As Thanos raised his unknowingly empty gauntlet, the battle really did stop. Everybody looked towards him. His empty snap resounded through the destroyed compound like the screeching of a microphone at a concert or a siren in the city at night. Peter had his own hand raised, barely registering the look of fear on Mr. Stark’s face or the resigned understanding on Strange’s before speaking. 

“Hi inevitable, I’m Peter.” 

And then he snapped. 

The pain buzzed up through his hand and down into his entire body as though six thousand electric shocks were coursing through his entire nervous system. Peter could barely concentrate as the his vision brightened-- and suddenly everything was white.

_ Weird _ , he thought, _ that isn’t how I thought that happened.  _

_ . . . _

_ . . . _

_ . . . _

Suddenly, he phased into an entirely new scene. He was sitting on an island of sorts. His small mound of sand protecting him from the clear blue water that floated all around him. He looked up, as though looking for the sun, but all he saw was more water. It was cool, a light breeze against his face as he dug his bare feet into the sand. He felt surprisingly light as he laid back against the golden sand, eyes searching the water. 

The water parted suddenly, as two the worlds on either side of him began to morph and change. A voice floated above him, and it sounded surprisingly like his own. 

“You have two options,” it whispered, “on your left is what you may return to, on your right is what you’ll go on to.” Peter turned towards the left first, and the blankness morphed into something different.

There was a dinner table, small with only two chairs. There was a small succulent on top of it, standing out against the stark white table. Half a bottle of wine was next to it. The view shifted and moved as though it was attached to somebody. Peter’s eyes followed it into a cramped living room. The room was small but homey and warm. The wall was filled with pictures of him and his friends, and MJ and May and Mr. Stark, fairy lights hung around the perimeter and there were more plants than Peter could count on the window. 

He and MJ sat on the bright yellow couch, a gray blanket thrown across their laps as they watched something on the TV. They both laughed and MJ brought the wine glass to her lips right as there was a knock on the door. 

The Peter on the screen stood up and went to answer it, but it flew open as Aunt May and Tony walked through, arms both piled high with food. There were loud, cheerful greetings exchanged but Peter couldn’t make them out as he watched the four of them settle on the couch again, plates piled high with food. 

It was dark again, suddenly, as Peter felt himself turning the other direction. 

The kitchen Peter saw was large and warm and inviting, and he remembered it briefly, more from pictures than actual memories, as the kitchen in his parent’s house. His father and uncle Ben sat at the table laughing and joking as Peter’s mother came bustling into view, a pie in her hands. She cut the pie into slices, and slowly she laid out four plates, placing a slice on each one. 

Peter watched the three of them for a minute, as they laughed and joked, but something seemed to be missing, as though they were waiting for someone. 

That screen darkened too and suddenly the water filled the room again, leaving Peter in the same peaceful place he had been in before. He sat up finally, staring at his feet before standing up entirely. He stretched, even though he didn’t mean too. 

He realized the choice he had. 

Stay or leave. 

Go back or move on.

Live or die. 

The choice was overwhelming, really. On one hand, he had a future ahead of him, a real-life future that involved an apartment and plants and MJ and good food and laughter. But he also had people who were waiting for him and warm kitchens and pies that smelt sweet and fruity like a summer day he couldn’t remember. 

It was an impossible choice really-- the uncertain vs. the uncertain. Peter realized just how unfair the question really was, how was he supposed to know what he wanted? He was fifteen (right? He actually wasn’t sure) and he had been asked too many impossible questions.

“Peter, do you want to live with me and uncle Ben now?” 

“Peter, do you want to become a superhero?”

“Peter, do you want to become an avenger?”

“Peter, do you really want to get on that spaceship?” 

_ “Peter?” _

_ “Peter?” _

** _“Peter?”_ **

He stared back up at the sky, but it was no use-- there was just more water. He took a deep breath of ocean-esque air and he looked around one more time through the clear blue. He swayed were he stood as though somebody else would come and make the right decision for him. Despite being dead for five years, he was exhausted. He dug his feet into the sand one more time. 

Was he ready to move on? 

He stared up at the place where the sun should be, letting the conflicting feeling of warmth and love wash over him. 

And he knew. 


	23. Day twenty three- Bleeding out

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> School shooting AU.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello all!  
If you didn't read the summary or the tags-- this is a somewhat graphic, school shooting fic. As always, take care of your own mental health first and foremost. 
> 
> Holy shit this is a long one, I just couldn't figure out where to stop lmao. It's like over 3500 words oof
> 
> Also, I recognize that in reality, most mass shootings happen in under five minutes, this one definitely doesn't. (Or maybe it does? The passage of time is purposefully vague here.) The good thing is: this is fiction, and I needed to make it longer in order to have an actual plot. 
> 
> I'm like, pretty proud of this, ngl. It's a beast. 
> 
> Tumblr: spiclergwen

It had been a normal day, maybe even too normal. Peter woke up, right at 6:30 am. He hit his snooze button exactly twice before finally rolling out of bed. He shoved his suit to the bottom of his backpack before throwing in his notebooks, laptop, and pencil case. He zipped it and quickly changed into a regular pair of jeans and a nerdy t-shirt (It was a dark blue, and it read: “You matter. Unless you multiply yourself by the speed of light squared. Then, you energy.”) 

It was October and it was finally starting to cool down in New York, Peter grabbed a jacket and quickly slide in webshooters up his wrists. Peter raced out of his bedroom, sliding on socked feet across the kitchen. He grabbed an apple from the bowl of fruit sitting on the counter and began to eat it as he wished his aunt a good morning.

“You should really eat something more for breakfast, Peter.” She reprimanded him as he headed back into his bedroom.

“It’s all good, May!” Peter grabbed his backpack off of the floor as he headed out of the apartment. He threw a quick “I love you” over his shoulder as he locked his front door and bounded down the stairs. 

It was a normal day, so the subway was six minutes late and Peter had to stand when he finally got on the train. The train was silent except for the creaking of the cabin as it slides around the dark New York underground. 

Peter bounded off the train four stops later as he finally entered Manhattan. He sped walked the next two blocks to Midtown. Ned was waiting for Peter next to his locker, as per usual. They exchanged greetings and Peter muttered to Ned about his lastest patrol as he pulled books out of his locker. He glanced around the soon to be empty hallway as the warning bell rang. 

At this point, Peter usually waited for the hallway to empty out so he could shove his suit in the back of his locker. But today, he didn’t. He had one hand wrapped around the suit, ready to pull it out, but his instincts were screaming: don’t. So he left it in his bag, ignoring Ned’s confused stare as he headed towards his homeroom class. 

The day passed normally. Peter watched as Ned gave heart eyes to Betty during the morning announcements, while he quietly chatted with MJ. (Who he did  _ not _ have a crush on, thank you). The three of them left homeroom together and walked towards their first-hour chemistry classes. 

It was then that Peter’s day got decidedly un-normal. 

Peter took his seat next to Ned as he pulled out his notebooks. The second the bell rang, the teacher began speaking as student’s whispers began to quiet down and phones were slid into pockets or backpacks. The class was normal, the lecture was boring stuff Peter definitely already knew, but it was nice to get a refresher course.

The teacher had just let them loose to complete their lab when shit hit the fan. Peter and Ned were leaned over the same test tube, muttering about the chemical composition of the substance inside. MJ’s test tube looked basically untouched as she continued reading her beat-up copy of 1984. Flash was boasting loudly to the class, but Peter couldn’t tell what it was about.

It was normal day, especially by Peter’s standards. 

And then, shots rang out. 

The entire room froze. Flash dropped the test tube that was in his hands and it crashed to the floor with the sickening sound of breaking glass. Nobody even moved. They all looked at each other nervously, as though silently asking each other if they were hearing things. The next three things happened at the exact same time. 

_ One: _ a series of four gunshots echoed through the halls of Midtown.

_ Two:  _ principle Moriata’s voice came over the intercom: “lockdown. This is not a drill. Lock, lights, out of sight.” 

_ Three: _ Peter sprinted out the door before his chemistry teacher had even moved towards it to close it. He couldn’t tell if the shock had worn off for long enough for anybody to notice his absence. 

He sprinted to the bathroom, backpack dangling in one hand as he shut the stall door behind him. More shots rang out. 

He overturned his backpack, letting his notebooks and pens fall against the floor. He grabbed the suit and held it in his hands for a moment, thinking about what he should do. The police had to be on their way, right? Would Spider-Man help them, or would he just be in the way? 

More shots. They sounded like they were coming closer. Peter pulled the suit on in record time. He realized that he couldn’t think about the police or what might happen, that wasn’t a luxury he could be afforded right now. 

There was a shooter in Midtown. 

_ His _ Midtown. 

He had to focus on saving lives. 

The mask was tugged over his face and suddenly Karen was speaking to him. 

“Peter? According to my records, it is only 9:24, are you not in class?” Peter sighed, usually Karen wasn’t heard by the people he was fighting, but he couldn’t take any chances.” 

“Karen-- mute.” He took her silence was compliance as he slowly inched out of the bathroom stall, making sure that his webshooters were attached firmly to his wrists. 

It was shockingly eery. Midtown was completely silent. There was no movement, and even though Peter knew there were people in the classrooms he was passing, he couldn’t hear any voices. 

(Except for the person who whispered “Spider-Man’s here! He’ll save us, right?”) to there friend. Peter’s breath stuttered when he heard it). 

A message popped up from Mr. Stark. 

“Pete-- I’ve been updated to the situation at Midtown and I’m aware you’re in your suit. I would normally try and dissuade you from doing this, but the police are having trouble getting into the school. Be careful.” 

Barely a second later, 

“They think there’s more than one shooter. Use your head, Pete.” Peter nodded and flicked the messages away, knowing Mr. Stark hadn’t expected him to respond. The silence was almost deafening, even with Peter’s enhanced senses. Unless there were gunshots echoing off the walls, it was completely silent. 

He turned a hallway and he almost tripped when he heard someone yell:

“Spider-Man?!” He looked up, there was three students, freshman he thought, standing up against the wall, cowered together, a man with a mask and a gun was inching towards them, but at Peter’s words, all four people turned towards him. Peter couldn’t see the shooter’s face, but he could hear their heartbeat, and it went from fast, to faster. With the shooter’s attention fully on him, Peter waved frantically at the kids, urging them to run. Where they would go, he wasn’t sure. 

They didn’t need to be told twice. 

No sooner had they rounded the corner than another round of shots emerged, confirming Peter’s fear that there was more than one shooter. The shooter inched towards him and fired twice. 

They both missed Peter. 

He shot again but seemed to be aware of his dwindling ammo. He fired six more times. 

Peter dodged five. 

The sixth bullet grazed his leg, causing him to drop to the ground momentarily. The boy raised his gun at Peter again, but when he pulled the trigger, there was only the “click” that signified an empty gun. 

Quickly, Peter raised his webshooters towards the shooter, ignoring the blood pouring out of his leg. He grabbed the gun with a web, and when it got close enough to him, he threw it somewhere behind him. The shooter didn’t bother fighting Peter. He dropped to his knees and raised his hands. Peter wasted no time webbing him to the wall, taking extra care to make sure there was no way he could get out of the webs. 

Peter thought about unmasking him, desperate to see who it was. But he realized as he heard shots further down the hall: 

This was far from over. 

Peter rushed towards the next shots, ignoring the way pain shot up his leg every time he stepped down on it. Right before he turned towards the main lobby of the school, he heard the door fall down. The police came rushing in, and they all paused the second they laid eyes on Peter. He held up his hands, making it clear he was free of any weapons before speaking.

“I know the school. Let me help.” One officer looked as though he was going to reject his offer, but another stepped in.

“John, we gotta let him help. These kids trust him, they know him. We can’t say the same for us.” The other man nodded and looked at Peter, who gave him a solemn nod in return.

“There are at least two shooters, maybe more,” he jerked his thumb back down the hallway he had come down, “I got one. He’s webbed up.” The officer, John, nodded. 

“Baker! Carr! Go down there, grab the first one. We’ll cover the rest.” The two officers immediately rushed past Peter. John grabbed a spare radio and thrust it into Peter’s hands.

“Channel one if you hear anything,” he gave Peter a strained smile, “we’re counting on you, Spider-Man.” Peter nodded and placed the radio on his belt, before taking off in the direction he was in before, trying to ignore the way he felt sick to his stomach. 

The shots came again, from the direction Peter was walking. He headed up the stairs towards them, but before he could exit them, a bullet ricocheted off the wall. Before he could move, a kid in a black mask slid into the stairwell, gun positioned on Peter. 

He shot, unlike the last guy, complete rapid-fire, not the slightest bit concerned about the number of bullets he had left. Peter had the upper hand, he could tell this guy was the only other one. He radioed quickly. “The second-floor left stairwell.” And he didn’t wait for a response. He slung a web against the door that opened up onto the floor, closing it. 

He could just make out the sounds of the police evacuating the first floor, the sheer trust they had in his sort of disgusting as he continued to dodge the shooter’s bullets. The shooter was trying to get passed him, but Peter kept blocking him, keeping him in the same space. 

Bullets kept grazing him, the space was tight and enclosed, but Peter couldn’t bring himself to care. So long as everybody else was safe. So long as he could take the brunt of the trauma, it would be fine. 

There was barely a moment to think. Peter was dodging and dodging and dodging. He could hear the sound of more evacuations taking place, and Peter almost sighed in relief knowing that people were getting out. He knew he had been hit at least a couple of times, but his determination to keep his school safe mixed with his heightened levels of adrenaline kept him unaware of just how bad the damage really was. 

The shooter stilled suddenly, and Peter heard him whisper, “fuck-- one left” under his breath as he steadied his gun again. Suddenly, Peter remembered something he heard in a documentary.

“Seeing somebody’s face can make it harder to kill them, that’s why the police say you should look people in the eye if you ever think you’re going to get killed.” For a split second, the shooter and Peter just stared at each other as Peter reached for the mask. He pulled it off in one fluid motion and stared at the masked face of the kid in front of him. 

“I’m not going to hurt you.” Peter put this hands out, “if you just set the gun down we can go downstairs and--” 

He never got to finish. 

The shooter fired his last bullet, and Peter felt it tear through the place where his chest turned into his stomach. Distantly, he registered the sound of the bullet rolling down the stairs. For a moment, he said nothing, mask clenched tightly in his hand. He couldn’t make out the shooter’s facial expression, but his heartbeat sped up. 

A second later, the doors at the top of the stairs flew open, and an officer (John, maybe?) came bounding in, gun raised. When he saw Peter and the shooter, he stopped cold. Peter heard him yelling for backup, and then suddenly an arm was around his waist, lowering him to the ground. 

“You did great, kid.” It was hard to breathe, Peter realized, as he put in way too much effort into inhaling and exhaling enough to speak. 

“Is… is everybody…? He trailed off, unsure of how much he wanted the answer. 

“The body count is relatively low. Thanks to you, Spidey. You saved so many people.” Peter could only nod. He slowly began to help Peter down the stairs, Peter leaning heavily on him for support. 

As the adrenaline faded, Peter felt at least six distinct wound areas. Two on his left leg. The one through his chest. Two in the left shoulder. One in the right arm. 

The school was empty, but Peter could hear the anxious chattering from students and teachers alike right outside the building. There was also the sound of clicking and recording and monotone announcements, a sure sign that the media had arrived as well. There was a medic waiting for Peter and John in the lobby, obstructed from the windows. The medic quickly pressed a rag against the wound in Peter’s abdomen, ignoring the less serious ones for now. She looked up at him and asked.

“Stark will want to take care of this, I’m assuming? Superheros usually have their own people for this.” Peter nodded numbly. Realizing that he should probably call Tony when he could. The medic pressed an oxygen mask to Peter’s face, and he felt her run her hands through his hair before wiping tears from his cheeks. 

“You did amazing, Spider-Man.” She jerked her head towards the crowd of students outside, “I don’t even know how many people you saved today.” 

Before Peter could so much as respond, he heard the sound, quiet beneath the murmurs from outside, of the Ironman suit. The suit landed, and every reporter immediately focused their attention on Tony Stark, who had landed inside police lines. He turned briefly towards the hoard of students waiting by the door, quickly scanning them for Peter. 

Two police officers came out. 

And then another two. 

And then two boys, both with masks still on their faces, handcuffed and pushed along by two more officers. Tony turned back to stare into the crowd, and he was so busy searching for his kid, that he didn’t hear the doors open behind him. 

He did; however, watch the faces of Peter’s classmates as they watched Spider-Man, bloody and maskless, be almost carried out by a police officer. Tony watched as the realization, the identity, dawned across their faces. He heard the murmurs break out. He watched as some reporters raised their cameras. A few dropped theirs in surprise. One yelled--

“Holy fuck. He’s so young.” 

None of that is what got Tony’s attention. Instead, it was the sound of Peter’s friend Ned’s voice, high pitched and broken as he cried out: 

“Peter!” He sounded scared, and broken, and traumatized in a way Tony knew they all were. He spun around and almost vomited. Peter was covered in blood, and it was clear that it was his own. There was a smattering of what appeared to be bullet wounds covering him, and there was a literal hole in his abdomen. 

But what froze Tony’s heart in his chest was Peter’s face. His  _ maskless _ face. Peter’s hair was messy and matted with sweat, tears running down his cheeks, blood stuck to his lips as he breathed through a roughly adjusted oxygen mask. 

The damage had been done, Tony knew. He couldn’t cover this up. Those cameras behind Tony had been recording and broadcasting the whole time. Peter and the Spider-Man suit were burned into the memory of every single one of those reporters, every one of those kids, every single person who was watching in horror on TVs across the country. 

He met the police officer halfway. The man picked up Peter as gently as he could and placed him in Tony’s arms as though e was delivering a baby.

“Any hospital in the city would keep him. For emergency care, I mean.” Tony only nodded, before taking off to the sky, Peter in his arms.

“Friday!” he barked, “ETA to the tower.” 

“Four minutes, boss.” Tony pushed himself harder.

The med team was ready for the second Tony landed. His feet hadn’t even touched the ground when Peter was suddenly being lifted out of his arms and rushed into the medbay. 

Between surgery and the other eighty trillion things Cho needed to, Tony couldn’t see the kid for eight hours. He spoke to May Parker and they cried on each other. He took a shower, he tried to eat. He sent reporters away, each one asking for news of Peter. 

It was unlike anything Tony had ever experienced. There was nothing indicative of the usual clamoring of reporters outside of the tower. In fact, they were all dead silent, solemn in a way Tony had never seen. Once he closed the door behind him, one of them asked, in a small voice, it was clear she had been crying.

“Is Peter Parke--- Spiderman, okay?” Tony gave her the smallest smile he could muster as he addressed the crowd. 

“Please, we will call a press conference when we’re ready.” The reporters nodded and turned away, but Tony froze as he heard the mutter among themselves.

“I hope the kid’s okay.”

“He’s a hero, but we’ve known that the whole time.” 

“I can’t believe the hero of Queens is a teenager.” 

But again and again, he heard the same message repeat: “I hope he’s okay.” And it broke what was left of Tony’s already shattered heart. 

_ Fuck _ , he thought,  _ me too.  _

Even once he was finally allowed to see him, Peter slept for almost thirty-six hours. During that time, New York exploded with love for their favorite hero. #peterparker and #spiderman and #spideyisahero were trending literally everywhere. Tony saw pictures of art, letters, murals-- dedicated to the web-slinger. Red and blue were everywhere. 

Tony couldn’ think of a person who deserved it more. 

The press was shockingly quiet as well. With the exception of a few tabloids, nobody was running sensationalist stories about Peter. 

When Peter woke up, the first thing he had asked was how many people had died. Tony told him, honestly.

“Four.” Peter opened his mouth as his eyes filled with tears as Tony shushed him, running a hand through his hair. 

“I know. I know, but Peter, you saved so many people.” Peter nodded. Tony added, “I know it feels awful, but when I’ve never, and I really mean never, have seen New York celebrate someone more than you.” Peter just looked confused as Tony opened up a video hologram between them. 

The countless photos and videos from social media, of people wearing red and blue, thanking Spider-Man, _ thanking Peter _ , for everything he had done. Peter watched in awe as he saw the art and letters and murals across the city, across the whole country. He looked up and began to cry all over again as he watched his city celebrate  _ him _ . 

“You have so many letters and candies and balloons that have been delivered to the tower it’s not even funny. We basically have a team of people going through it all to make sure it’s not dangerous.” Peter nodded, not trusting himself to speak. 

“Can I have my phone back?” Tony rolled his eyes. 

“You kids and your phones.” He scoffed but handed it to Peter anyways. He ignored the hundreds of notifications as he opened up Instagram, and switched to his Spider-Man account, ignoring the almost one million followers he had gained. 

“Can I like, film a video?” Peter asked Tony. Tony shrugged.

“I mean, your identities pretty well out there kid, it wouldn’t make anything worse.” Peter nodded, and Tony left the room not much later. Peter flipped the camera so that it was facing him, trying not to wince as he took in his own reflection. Once he got the angles and lighting right (he didn’t want to look anymore disgusting than necessary) he hit record. 

“Hey, Instagram!” He waved, ignoring the way his voice cracked from disuse, “It’s me, your friendly neighborhood Spider-Man.” He glanced around the room, unsure of what to say. 

“Thank you.” He said finally, tears leaking out of his eyes as he did so. “Your outpour of love and support has meant the world to me. I uh… I think it’s amazing the things you guys have done for me and I just wanted to let everybody know,” he tried to wipe the tears away from his eyes, “that I’m okay, and you’ll see me swinging around Queens again in no time!” 

“And also, I appreciate all the cards and food and balloons and everything else, but if you can, please put your resources towards the crowdfunding for the victims, they’re the people we should really be celebrating right now.” He nodded to himself.

“But thank you so much! I really do appreciate it!” Peter smiled at the camera for the first time, a real, genuine smile that lit up his entire face, “I love you, New York.” He stopped filming, barely looking rewatching it before posting it to his story. 

When Peter woke up the next morning, his notifications had doubled, and despite it all, Peter smiled when he saw the first trending hashtag. 

  1. #weloveyouspidey


	24. Day twenty four- Secret injury

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter Stark is, for a genius, actually pretty fucking stupid.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> wow, a bio child au? wild. Seriously I don't really move bio child fics, but uh... I wrote one. I had the idea for this specific injury, and I knew it wasn't going to work unless it was a bio child au, so... 
> 
> This was rushed for sure, Sorry! I'm just super busy, it's wild.
> 
> Also! I don't say it enough but thank you for all the love and support on this fic, it's literally crazy. Especially on the last chapter, holy shit. 
> 
> I don't know if this really qualifies as an injury, but I decided it did.

Peter was borderline asleep, his chin was resting in his hands and his whole body was slumped over, it took conscious effort to stay awake. Mr. Harrington continued to speak at the front of the room, and Peter tried to pay attention, he really did. He knew that if he fell asleep in class again, his dad would be super disappointed in him. 

But, Peter contended that it wasn’t necessarily all his fault-- his dad had invited him to the lab that night to help with one of the Ironman gauntlets, and it’s not like Peter would ever turn down the opportunity to spend time with his dad, especially when he didn’t see him all that often. 

If asked, Peter would always contend that Tony Stark was literally the best dad in the world. He was like his father and his best friend all rolled up into one. He could be strict, and his expectations of Peter were high, but he always tried to take the time to hang out with Peter, learn about his interests, and check up on him. 

Tony always made sure that Peter felt loved. 

Although, they didn’t get to see each other near enough. Peter understood it. His dad was a busy man, and there was usually something incredibly important that demanded his attention. It didn’t bother Peter, really-- it just meant that the valued the time he had with his father all the more. 

The sound of packing up shook Peter out of his thoughts, Mr. Harrington was still talking and there were still a good three minutes until the bell. Peter sighed, pushing his glasses back up his nose. Mr. Harrington grabbed a pile of papers off of his desk, silencing the class immediately. 

“I told you all there would be an announcement at the end of class.” Everybody looked up at him, “We’re going on a field trip!” The class erupted for a minute while Mr. Harrington tried to calm everybody down again. Flash immediately shot his hand in the air:

“Mr. Harrington!” He yelled before the man had even called on him, “Where are we going?” Mr. Harrington smiled and began to pass out the permission slips in his hand. 

“We’ve been granted an exclusive tour of OsCorp!” The screams returned, the excitement in the room was palpable for all the students except for one. 

Peter sighed and put his head in his hands, not even bothering to look at the permission slip before he had shoved it in his backpack. He followed Ned out of the room as the bell rang, and almost immediately Ned began blabbing about it.

“I mean, how many people tour OsCorp of all places? This is crazy! I wonder if they’ll show us anything restricted? I mean--” Ned trailed off suddenly, and he turned towards Peter, eyes wide.

“Your dad will let you go, right” Peter shrugged.

“Yeah I mean, I don’t know why he wouldn’t let me go.” Ned nodded as he and Peter walked to the lunchroom. 

. . .

Tony Stark absolutely did not want him to go. 

He sighed the permission slip anyways when Peter presented it to him over dinner. 

“OsCorp?” He asked barely trying to hide the disgust seeping into his voice. Peter shrugged and picked at his spaghetti.

“I know.” He had the same bored tone as his father, “I mean, I don’t need to go. I could just stay here…” he trailed off hopefully. Tony seemed to consider it for a moment. 

“You should probably go… I don’t want to watch the press blow the situation out of proportion.” Peter chuckled, as he thought about it.

“I can see it now,” he twirled a bite of spaghetti on his fork, “‘local billionaire doesn’t let his son go on field trip.’” Tony snorted. 

“You know the Bugle would find some way to make it sound like your locked up here.” Peter laughed and shrugged.

“I mean, it would at least be funny.” He reached for breadstick as he felt Tony lightly kick him underneath the table. He smiled widely, this was when he was happiest, he realized. When it was just him and his dad, no fears, no obligations, no world-ending crisis-- just normal family conversations during dinner. 

Peter had no idea that it was the last time he’d experience normal. 

. . . 

When the day of the field trip rolled around, Peter woke up sick. Tony had commented on how pale he was, but once he determined that he wasn’t running a fever, he kissed him on his forehead and sent him to school. The day was normal as he and Ned slid into the middle of the bus together. Peter leaned his head against the window, his body protesting with every movement as though it knew he shouldn’t go on the field trip.

Peter slept the whole to OsCorp, and he followed Ned like a zombie into the building. Passes were handed out and the safety video played, but Peter didn’t listen to any of it, too focused on the pain radiating from his skull. 

The tour began and honestly? It was boring. Peter hated to sound mean, or ungrateful, but half the stuff he saw at OsCorp was stuff he’d seen in his dad’s lab years ago. The tour was uneventful, and Peter briefly considered faking sick and leaving early. It wouldn’t really be like faking, he  _ was _ technically a little sick. 

But after lunch, that’s when things finally got interesting. 

OsCorp was experimenting with the effects of radiation on different insects, and it was probably the most interesting thing Peter had seen there. He paused for a moment, letting the group wander in front of him as he stared into the cage of what was supposed to be the false black widow, OsCorp’s latest specimen, but Peter could feel it anywhere. 

He turned to walk away, but right before he caught up with the group, he felt something pinch his ankle. He had to almost physically stop himself from yelping with pain. Instead, he strolled up beside Ned, placating his friend’s concerned look with an easy smile, as he decidedly ignored the pain. 

They got back on the bus not long after that. Peter sighed and dropped his head against the window again, feeling worse than he had when he woke up that morning. He wasn’t sure if he had fallen asleep or not, his mind was incredibly cloudy and suddenly he was following Ned off the bus and stumbling over to where Happy was.

He opened the backdoor and all but fell in. Happy glaced back, concerned.

“You okay, kid?” Peter nodded numbly, his head felt like it weighed six thousand pounds. 

“Yeah…” he mumbled, “jus’ a little sick.” Happy turned back to the wheel, clearly concerned. 

He shook Peter awake once they got back to the tower, trying not cringe at how pale and clammy Peter’s skin was. 

“Boss says, if you promise to do your homework later, you can head down to the lab.” It became even clearer something was wrong when Peter didn’t immediately bound into the elevator. Instead, he glanced up at Happy, eyes bloodshot, and said: 

“I think I’m going to take a nap, actually.” Happy simply nodded, but he felt his concern rise higher. 

Peter stumbled to his bedroom after taking multiple breaks due to either exhaustion or dizziness, and he had barely been able to change into sweatpants before falling into his bed. He was on fire and freezing all at once. He was just about to ask Friday to turn down the lights when his Dad entered. 

“Hey, Pete--” Tony kept his voice quiet as he peaked his head, “everything okay?” When he didn’t answer, Tony stepped into the room farther. Peter was nestled in bed, eyes closed, but not asleep. He looked pained, and Tony saw the cool sweat running down his forehead. He sat down on the edge of the bed. 

He placed his hand on the top of Peter’s forehead, wincing at how hot it felt. Peter mumbled something, but Tony couldn’t hear him.” 

“What, bud?” he asked softly, running a hand through Peter’s hair. 

“...hurts…” Peter mumbled again, as he leaned into Tony’s touch. 

“Yeah you don’t look like you feel so hot, do you want me to go make some tea? Get some water?” Peter nodded, and Tony was gone and back before Peter understood what was happening.

Tony stayed with him until he fell asleep, a rare occurrence, watching movies with Peter and trying to alleviate the pain any way he could. 

When Tony finally got to sleep that night, Peter’s fever was at 100 degrees, but he was confident it would break soon. It was the sickest he had ever seen Peter, but he figured that the kid couldn’t get much worse. 

He was so, so wrong.

On the second day, the vomiting started. Peter literally couldn’t keep anything down: no soup, tea or water seemed to last longer than fifteen minutes. By the end of the night, Peter was hunched over the toilet, but only stomach bile came out. 

It was at this point, Tony asked him: 

“Did something happen during your field trip, Petey?” 

Peter had just shaken his head as he retched again. 

On the third day, the fever spiked so high that Tony nearly had a panic attack. He, of course, had all his best doctors working directly out of Peter’s room, but no one could figure it out. When Peter’s fever spiked to 105 degrees, the whole tower nearly dissolved into bedlam. Not because of the fever, but because it seemed to have no effect on Peter what so ever. Nothing could bring it down, but it didn’t seem to be causing permanent damage, either. It was definitely the weirdest thing Tony had ever seen. 

As he was laying a cool rag against Peter’s forehead, he asked again.

“Are you sure nothing happened.” 

Peter shook his head again as he wiped the sweat away from his temples. 

On the fourth day, Peter had become so dizzy he could barely move. The fever had dropped down to 102, and he had stopped vomiting, but even the task of bringing a cup of water to his lips left the room spinning. Tony’s doctors still could not figure out what was happening. Helen Cho was convinced that they were witnessing some sort of true medical mystery. 

While bringing the glass of water to Peter’s lips for him, Tony had asked again.

“You’re positive you can’t remember what caused this?”

Peter shook his head as he swallowed, before immediately closing his eyes, as though the action had caused him unbearable pain.

On the fifth day, Peter slept. That was literally all he did. The fever hadn’t come down, and the dizziness hadn’t stopped, but no new symptoms arose. Both Tony and the medical team were at a complete loss. 

Tony was changing Peter’s pajamas when he wondered out loud.

“I really think something happened at that field trip, kid-- I just wish you’d talk to me.” 

Peter just stayed asleep. 

When Tony went to bed on that fifth night, he was convinced that this literally could not get any weirder. 

But the next day, it absolutely did. 

Tony was awoken at 7:32 by Friday. 

“Boss,” she spoke as Tony silently dressed, “Peter has requested your presence.” Tony nodded and headed for his door, before Friday stopped him dead in his tracks. 

“He also refuses to see any doctors until he sees you.” His brow furrowed as he tried to figure out why Peter would refuse to see the medical staff, he had never minded before, had he? He rushed to Peter’s room, pushing past the staff crying to get in, and knocked exactly four times on Peter’s door. 

“Come in, Dad.” Peter’s voiced sounded louder and clearly than Tony had heard it in days. He pushed in, quickly shutting the door behind him, and he felt his jaw fall to the floor.

Peter was standing straight up, looking as though he had never been sick at all. His glasses laid right where Peter had left them before, and he seemed to have grown three inches literally overnight, and suddenly, his entire body was corded with muscle, in a way Tony knew it wasn’t before. 

He met Peter’s eyes and immediately realized that the kid looked scaredscaredscared. Peter’s hand was on the wall, and Tony watched as he tried to pull away, but somehow failed. Peter almost immediately dissolved into tears. 

“Okay, so something totally happened on the field trip.” Tony nodded, urging Peter to go on.

“There were these things they were experimenting on, with radiation and stuff and I think I got bit and now uh… I can stick to the walls and everything is loud and I can see without my glasses and…” Peter was near hyperventilation, sobbing as he tried to pull his hand away from the wall. 

Tony prided himself on being able to think quick on his feet, but he was genuinely at a loss. He settled for reaching for his son, wrapping him in a hug. Slowly, Peter’s sobs quieted into sniffles and Tony hugged him harder as he was finally able to pull his hand away from the wall. For a while, they stayed like that: wrapped in each other’s arms. 

Finally, Tony pulled away and looked at Peter’s face, wiping the rest of the tears away. 

“We’ll figure this out.” He said finally. 

“I’ll have Cho run a few tests, make sure nothing awful has happened and we’ll go from there. One step at a time, okay, Pete?” Peter nodded slowly. 

“One step at a time.” 


	25. Day twenty five- humiliation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Part III.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi okay wow, this a wild ride. If you want to read the first two parts it's chapters 16 and 18. I want to rewrite this one day when I have more time, but that time doesn't seem to be anytime soon.
> 
> remember, even though this mini-fic is not explicit, it is still about the sexual abuse of a minor, so take care of yourself first. 
> 
> also, this is literally 3000 words, it's a little rushed towards the end because honestly, I'm trying to go to bed. 
> 
> tumblr: spiclergwen

After his conversation with Daredevil on the roof, Peter found himself genuinely doing better. He still had panic attacks from time to time, and there was always that lingering voice in the back of his mind that whispered  _ you didn’t say no.  _ in his ear, but despite it all, Peter tried to keep going in the right direction towards his own recovery. 

Mr. Stark had definitely noticed something was up if the way Peter had been seeing him more and more was any indication, but he never said anything, just continued to cast worried glances at Peter when he thought the younger boy couldn’t see him. 

Peter hadn’t seen the man from before again, but the trauma of almost being revictimized weighed heavy on his mind as he continued his nightly crimefighting. The whispering of that man in the alley, the way his hands felt rough on Peter’s wrists, added to Skip-fueled panic sessions, and it sucked major ass, but he was constantly reminding himself of what Daredevil told him. 

“Keep moving forward.” 

Even if he couldn’t get over it, even if he wasn’t better yet, Peter promised himself that the could always do that. 

He would keep moving forward, no matter what. And for a moment it was easy, but then the world did what it always seemed to do to Peter Parker. 

It flipped his life on his head. 

The night everything changed had been a fairly normal one. Peter had returned home from decathlon, did his homework, ate dinner with Aunt May, and then slid out of his window in the Spider-Man suit for his patrol. 

He was just about to call it a night when he heard a scream from under the roof he was perched on. 

Immediately, he crawled down the wall to the source of the noise, and he felt himself almost vomit inside of the suit. 

There was a young boy, probably ten or eleven years old, lying against his bed, sobbing as a much older woman stuck her hand down his pants. Peter heard her whisper.

“Hey, it’s okay-- this is the type of things friends do, alright?” Her voice was deceptively soft, and Peter had to shake himself out of the flashback that was creeping along his shoulders as he swung in through the window. 

The older woman jumped back as Peter landed on the soft carpet. She shot him an icy glare as Peter turned all his attention to the younger boy. He was still shaking, and his face had turned tomato red, but there was a sort of trust in Peter’s eyes that made his entire body still. 

Before Peter even had any idea what to say, the younger boy was running into him, almost knocking him over. He wrapped his small arms around Peter’s neck in the tighest hug he’d ever experienced. Peter tried to glare at the other woman through his mask. 

The younger boy started crying suddenly, and it snapped them both out of their glaring war. The woman stood up and raced out of the room, Peter could hear her slam the front door behind her, but he couldn’t bring himself to go after her, not when he had someone much more important to help.

“Hey,” Peter whispered, trying to sound as soft as possible, “it’s going to be okay, I’m not going to let her hurt you again, alright?” The younger boy nodded and buried his face deeper into Peter’s masked shoulder. 

“What’s your name?” The boy sniffled before answering. 

“C-Caleb.” he hiccuped, before dissolving into sobs again. Peter began rubbing circles into his back, hoping that the action was at least somewhat soothing for the young boy. 

“Okay, Caleb-- can you tell me what happened?” Caleb sucked in a breath, and Peter suddenly realized that there was absolutely no way in hell he himself was ready to hear what Caleb was about to say. 

It was a realization that stabbed Peter right through the heart: Spider-Man wanted to hear this kid’s story, wanted to be there for him and make it right. Peter Parker wanted to jump out of the window and never return. 

As Caleb told him, Peter was slowly able to breathe it again. It was awful and traumatizing to hear about, but there was only one saving grace: it was the first time his babysitter (Judy, apparently) had tried anything, and it had been stopped by Peter before it could have gone much further. 

When Caleb was done, Peter let him cry on his shoulder for a few minutes more, before asking Caleb if he was hungry. He nodded, and Peter led him out of his bedroom and into the kitchen, where he started making him a sandwich. 

After all, Caleb’s family didn’t have a landline, so Peter was kind of stuck for the foreseeable future. 

Caleb started eating the second Peter slid the PB&J to him, and Peter did his best to make conversation while he waited for Caleb’s parents to get home. 

“Will I get better?” Caleb asked, pausing in the middle of his original sentence about the Power Rangers. 

“Of course you will,” Peter told him, trying to ignore the way his mind fought to add: 

But it will take forever

And 

But it’s the worst experience ever 

And 

But you’ll never be the same. 

Caleb eyed Peter suspiciously, “are you sure?” he asked, eyes narrowing slightly. 

“Yeah, I’m sure.” Caleb tilted his head to the side, in the way only a curious child could. 

“How are you so sure?” Peter froze. He began to mentally weigh his options. On one hand, he could deflect the conversation, say something about how he helps people get better all the time, or he could be a little more honest, speak in hypotheticals and tell Caleb all about one of his “friends” who were hurt too. 

With his heart sinking in his chest, Peter realized that none of those things would be fair. Caleb deserved to know, he deserved to see proof that people could survive and get (sort of) better. He took a deep sigh and tried to ignore the way tears began to gather in his eyes. 

“I’m sure because… when I was your age, my babysitter hurt me too.” Caleb’s eyes widened. 

“In the same way?” He didn’t sound excited, exactly, but there was the underlying buzz of interest and hope that came with finding somebody exactly like you laced in his voice. Not trusting himself to speak, Peter simply nodded.

“In the same way.” Caleb’s eyes darted around the room and he looked down to fidget with his hands, clearly itching to ask a question, but too scared too. 

“You can ask me anything, Caleb-- I’ll tell you the truth.” Peter hated the vulnerable state he was putting himself in, but he couldn’t help but think how much better he would’ve felt in he had somebody to talk to after Skip, somebody who he could relate to, somebody who  _ understood.  _

“Your babysitter--” Caleb asked quietly, “did they play the whole friend game with you, or just part of it like Judy and me?” Peter wet his lips under the mask in order to buy himself some time. 

“The whole thing.” He answered finally before he quickly explaining to Caleb that real friends never, ever, ever, under any single circumstance, hurt each other in that way.

Caleb asked him questions until his parents got home. Some were about Peter’s babysitter, others about the Avengers or being a superhero, some even, were about learning to survive the fourth grade. Peter answered each one honestly, a nagging voice in the back of his mind telling him that the kid deserved to know the truth since Peter couldn’t save him soon enough.

When Caleb’s parents got home, they both stopped dead in their tracks as they looked at the seen in front of them. Peter couldn’t blame them, they had probably expected Caleb to be asleep in his room, while Judy watched HGTV in the living room. 

Instead, they found Caleb wide awake, playing monopoly with Spider-Man. It was probably a bit of a shock. Once Peter met their eyes, he stood up, Caleb standing up with him. He nodded at them.

“Mommy? Daddy?” Caleb whispered, voice small and scared, “I have something to tell you.” The parents nodded blankly, and Caleb immediately turned towards Peter.

“You won’t leave, right Spidey?” Peter shook his head no. 

“Not if you don’t want me to.” Caleb smiled a bit at the promise.

“I don’t want you too.” Peter nodded again and turned back towards Caleb’s parents. 

The four of them sat down, and in painful sentences, Caleb told them everything. Peter watched them react just like May and Ben had: there was crying, and anger and the police were called almost immediately. Once the police were safely on their way, Peter bent down to look at Caleb. 

“I gotta go, buddy, okay?” Caleb nodded tearfully.

“You’re so brave, you’re basically a superhero.” Caleb smiled as Peter turned to leave. He looked back at Caleb’s parents. 

“I’m really sorry about breaking your window.” He added, but Caleb’s mom cut him off. 

“Spider-Man, you saved our son. We couldn’t care less about that window. Thank you.” Caleb’s father added.

“Is there anything we could do to repay you?” Peter shook his head as tears filled his eyes again. 

“You’ve done more than enough for me already.” 

And with that, he was gone. 

Peter crawled into his window and for a moment, he just sat on his bed, not thinking, not even moving, just sitting. It was a lot to take in. He was so happy he could help somebody who was like him, but at the same time, some bitter voice inside him wished that someone had been there for him in the same way. 

It was ridiculous, and he knew that, but he couldn’t help but be a little jealous. 

_ Jealous of a kid who almost got assaulted Peter, really? _ His mind questioned, and Peter agreed. He would be fine. He just needed to keep moving forward. 

Peter wandered into the kitchen the next morning, grateful for the weekend as he made toast. May had an early shift and had left hours before, so Peter was left to his own devices for most of the day. He grabbed his phone, not even looking at it as he flopped down on the couch. He turned on the TV and flipped through a few channels, not even realizing the news was playing until he read the headlines.

“LOCAL: Spider-Man’s abuse story rattles Queens.” Peter was lucky he had set his plate down as he felt his arms fall into his lap. He could barely listen to a thing the newscaster was saying as he tried to fight back tears, only catching snippets of the story as he began to hyperventilate.

“...Spider-Man was raped as a child...” 

“...babysitter…”

“...Confirmed by a witness at the station…” 

“...Later confirmed again by a man who provided hacked CCTV footage…” 

Peter turned off the TV and resisted the urge to throw the controller across the room, instead, pulling his knees to his chest as he broke down. 

Nobody was supposed to find out. 

Nobody was supposed to find out.

_ Nobody was supposed to find out.  _

His entire body was shaking as the reality of the situation sunk in. It was humiliating in a way, the realization that something so personal to him that he hadn’t told Ned or Mr. Stark or anybody else was now out in the open for all of New York to know. Peter couldn’t tell if he wanted to scream, or rip his hair out, or sleep for sixteen years-- the implications descended on him rapidly as he realized that his life as Spider-Man would probably never be the same. He grabbed his phone, hoping he could distract himself. 

He had sixteen missed calls from Ned and almost forty-eight from Mr. Stark. He couldn’t even look to see who sent the one hundred and ninety-six text messages he had received overnight. He scrolled through social media, hoping to find something else to look at, but it was no use. He was trending on both instagram and twitter, but he couldn’t bring himself to see what people were saying. 

He resigned himself to staring at the ceiling, unable to do a whole lot else. His phone kept ringing, but Peter ignored it, he wasn’t sure if he could face anybody. Suddenly, his phone stopped ringing, and Mr. Stark’s voice came through. 

“Ya’ know Pete, you’re awfully hard to get a hold of when you want to be, I had to force this call through and everything.” Peter could tell that Mr. Stark was trying to keep his voice light, but there was something in the layers of Tony’s voice that sounded almost broken. 

Peter took a hopeful breath, maybe Tony hadn’t seen the news yet, maybe he had been holed up in his workshop and had no idea? 

“Sorry, Mr. Stark, I slept in late.” Peter tried to keep his voice light as well, but he could feel himself falling, he didn’t have the energy to fake a happy tone. 

“You’ve seen the news today, right Peter?” Tony asked finally. Peter sighed, of course, it would be about this-- of course, he couldn’t get off easy even temporarily. 

“Yeah,” Peter said finally, “I have.” 

There was a terrible pause, one filled with a silence so awkward and painful Peter felt himself choking on his own tears again. 

“Is-- is it true?” Tony questioned, Peter felt his heart fall into his stomach as he realized there was no point in lying. 

“Yeah.” 

The line was silent on the other end, and Peter, even in his exhaustion, couldn’t ignore the new fear seeping into his heart.

“But I’m totally fine so it’s really nothing to worry about, and I uh-- I just really don’t want you to see me any differently, because I’m the exact same because it really isn’t a big deal or anything and--” 

“Peter. Stop.” 

He did.

“I don’t see you differently, kid.” Peter couldn’t help but feel his breathing even out after that. 

“But you don’t have to act like it’s totally fine, especially when it probably isn’t. I imagine this is hard for you, kid.” Peter nodded before realizing Tony couldn’t see him. 

“I have my PR team working on it, they won’t be able to erase anything, but they can help bring the media hype down if that’s what you want.”

“It is,” Peter said. Tony ignored him and changed the subject.

“Do you want to come to the tower?” Peter was just about to turn the offer down, in favor of sulking in his bed, but Tony continued. 

\ “I want to make sure you’re taking care of yourself.” The admission made Peter freeze, he knew Mr. Stark did care about him, but this was the first time the older man had even come close to acknowledging it. And Peter did realize that being with somebody else would probably make him feel a little bit better. 

So he went. 

It had been a little strange at first, despite not treating him any different, Tony did seem concerned for Peter’s wellbeing, and he really did appreciate it. It was sort of nice to have it out there, as though some invisible wall had been torn down between them. 

Peter was working on nothing in particular, grateful to have something to do with his hands when Mr. Stark finally asked him about it. 

“You don’t have to tell me anything, but if you’re willing… is that monster, your older babysitter I mean, in jail now?” Peter considered saying nothing very briefly but realized he had no reason not to tell Tony. 

“He was for a while, I think he got out early on good behavior a couple of years ago but I’m not sure. I try not to keep up with him.” Tony nodded.

“I’m sorry for asking.” Peter shrugged.

“It’s fine, really.” 

More silence. It was clear that Mr. Stark had more questioned, but he didn’t ask them, instead leaving Peter to work on whatever he had been working on before. 

The knowledge that Mr. Stark didn’t treat Peter any differently hit him like a train, despite the humiliation of his biggest secret being outed to the world, Peter couldn’t help but feel a tinge of peacefulness knowing that his mentor didn’t think less of him. 

The rest of the confession was falling out of Peter’s lips before he could even think of what he was saying.

“I was nine,” he whispered, knowing Tony could hear him, “and it was probably the worst couple months of my life, and that’s really saying something. But I’ve realized recently that I can’t let it hold onto me forever, ya’ know? Like, I have to start moving on at some point.” He didn’t even realize he had started to cry until Tony wrapping him in a hug, letting him cry into his shoulder.

“You’re so fucking brave, Peter.” Peter scoffed lightly, 

“Not brave enough to tell people, I mean, I’m literally hiding from my problems in here instead of talking to Ned or even like, actually helping people.” 

“You’ve kept going in the face of everything that’s happened to you, and you were able to help somebody else along the way, that’s pretty brave if you ask me, Pete.” Peter shrugged as he looked away from Tony, hoping one day he could believe what the older man way saying. 

Tony pushed Peter’s curls back, “you’re a hero, kid.” Peter swallowed hard open hearing the way Tony’s voice was choked with emotion. 

Peter gave him a small smile and nodded.

“Yeah, I am.” 

It wasn’t a lot: there was still years of healing and therapy and panic attacks ahead. Peter still had a lot he needed to believe for himself and he knew that. But it was a start. He didn’t need to believe that he was healed or brave or any of the other one hundred thousand things people wanted to tell him he was. 

Not when he knew what mattered the most: 

He was a hero. 


	26. Day twenty six- Abandoned

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> part II to day 20

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> holy shit it's like 11:59 but I'm dedicated to getting this out. It could've been better, but I'm happy with it. Warning: 92% of this chapter is just like, self-loathing.

Tony hadn’t heard from Peter in three weeks. Three weeks ago, the kid had swung into the lab with a stab wound. Three weeks ago, they had argued about Peter’s optimism. Three weeks ago, Tony had watched Peter storm out of his lab, his movements sloppy and uncoordinated, still crying as he told Tony, with an iciness Tony had no idea he possessed:

“Nobody forced you to be a part of this.” 

Despite the (probably purposeful) vagueness of Peter’s statement, Tony knew exactly what he had been saying, it was Peter’s way of reminding him that he didn’t actually need to be in Peter’s life. 

Not if he didn’t want too. 

And honestly, the idea of it broke his heart directly in half. He didn’t feel “forced” to be in Peter’s life in any way, and yet the kid’s statement had been spoken with so much venom in it, that Tony suddenly understood exactly how Peter felt. 

He should probably reach out to the kid, after all-- three weeks was the longest time he had gone without hearing from him, and there was complete radio silence on Peter’s end. But he didn’t, he figured Peter probably needed his space, and so Tony would let him set the pace. 

(This turned out to be the worst possible idea, but Tony didn’t know that yet). 

After their initial argument, Tony had locked the door to his lab and didn’t speak to anybody for two days. He was so angry at himself: he had been inconsiderate and unfair and downright  _ wrong _ . He knew that his anger stemmed from how much he cared about Peter, but that wasn’t an excuse. 

In the back of his mind, a voice that sounded like Pepper’s whispered to him: “if you care so much about him, maybe you should tell him that.” Tony had brushed it off, but the more he thought about it, the more convinced he was that he needed to talk to Peter. He resolved to tell him when the kid finally reached out again. 

Week four of silence was coming to a close, and Tony was growing impatient. He really didn’t want to push the kid, but he was getting worried. Karen reported that Peter had been repeatedly breaking his curfew, that he had been getting injured more, and that he in general, seemed to be doing worse. 

But Tony waited for Peter to reach out to him. 

He was sitting in his lab, pretending to be focused on fixing one of the Ironman gauntlets and berating himself (again) for how he handled Peter when Friday shook him out of his stupor. 

“Boss.” Tony made a noise of recognition. 

“Peter seems to have been stabbed.” 

“Is he headed for the tower?” 

“He does not appear to be, sir.” 

“Okay Fri, if he can handle it, let him.” 

“Sir?”

Tony sighed, “yes?”

“According to Karen, the wound could be fatal if Peter does not receive any sort of medical care, I suggest you get him to medbay.” Tony felt his blood run cold. Friday had never, ever once, called one of Peter’s wounds “fatal.” 

Fuck waiting for Peter to come to him, he was calling his phone, forcing it through, and changing into an Ironman suit before Friday had even finished her sentence. 

His only focus was Peter as the flew towards his location, despite the boy’s insistence that he was fine. 

. . .

Peter hadn’t heard from Tony in three weeks, and honest to god, it was tearing him apart. He stayed home from school the first day after the argument, claiming he had the flu, but he was pretty sure that Aunt May hadn’t believed him. She let him stay in his room all day anyway. 

It was stupid for Peter to be so upset, he was the one who had given Tony an out, he couldn’t blame the man for taking it. His last words before he swung out of the lab echoed through his mind. 

“Nobody forced you to be apart of this.” 

The silence stung, and with it came the realization that Mr. Stark maybe didn’t actually care about him at all. After all, his lack of communication with Peter made it pretty clear that he didn’t want to be apart of “this” anymore. 

If he had, Peter figures, he would have at least called him to yell at him a little bit more. But Peter tried to convince himself that he was fine, that he could handle it. He had been abandoned and ripped away from the adults in his life before, he could handle it again. 

Except, this was different than losing his parents or Uncle Ben. They hadn’t left him by choice, and Tony, well… 

Tony had. 

He sighed and buried his head in his pillow, ignoring the way the tears started to stream down his cheeks again. His body shook a little as sobs bubbled up and out of his throat. 

That seemed to be happening a lot lately. 

It was no big deal, he promised himself, he didn’t need Tony Stark, he had an aunt who loved him, an amazing best friend, and he was Spider-Man. He didn’t need his ex-mentor. 

(A voice in the back of his mind buzzed,  _ he was more than a mentor _ , but Peter tried to ignore it). 

He tried not to think about messing around in the lab, or awful movie nights, or incognito trips to Tony’s favorite Italian restaurant that were never really that incognito. 

You don’t need him.

You don’t need him.

_ You don’t need him. _

(he did). 

Once Peter had collected himself, he quickly finished up his AP Calculus homework, shoving it into his backpack without another thought. He pulled out his suit, trying to ignore the way his chest hurt just looking at it. 

Another wave of anxiety washed over him as he realized he would probably never update his suit again, never hear about the “baby monitor protocol” or have Happy pick him up for school for a “quick upgrade.” He starved the anxiety back, trying to ignore the longing the tugged at his chest as he crawled out of his window. 

It was a normal patrol. Or at least, it was one the resembled Peter’s new normal. Karen was almost begging him to take a break or to be a little more careful, but Peter just couldn’t: not when he knew nobody was watching his vitals and his every move. Not when fighting crime and webbing up criminals was the only thing that could silence the gremlins in his mind that whispered like clockwork.

Everybodyleavesyoueverybodyleavesyoueverybodyleavesyou. 

So yeah, he was being a bit reckless-- but that didn’t mean that the guy in the fake Ironman mask had to stab him in the chest. 

(The metaphorical nature of the situation was not lost on Peter). 

As he swung away, the knife still stuck deep inside him, Peter couldn’t help but bitterly think of Mr. Stark, who was confident that it was Peter’s “optimism” that got him hurt. He rolled his eyes again. 

He stumbled into a nearby alley and almost collapsed. He allowed himself to slide against the dirty brick wall as his legs collapsed under him. Peter knew he wasn’t thinking properly, a mix between his jumbled emotional state and the blood loose, but he didn’t care as he wrapped his hand around the knife and pulled it out.

Almost immediately, he realized he shouldn’t have done that. 

Karen confirmed this.

“Peter, I strongly advise you to call Mr. Stark.”

A lancet of pain tore through Peter’s chest, but he couldn’t tell if that was the stab wound or the reminder of the man who Peter desperately, desperately wanted to call. But he didn’t want to inconvenience the man, especially not when it was so clear that said man didn’t want anything to do with him. 

Besides, it wasn’t like it was fatal or anything. 

His goal was to get home, but ultimately he only made it about three rooftops away, before he was collapsing again a door. He was so, so tired, and it felt as though his entire chest was filling up with water. He sighed, dropping his head between his knees. If he could just breath for a few seconds, he would be good to go in no time. He was all good, so he could totally just… close his eyes for a few seconds. 

He was out cold before he could even hear Karen shouting for him to stay awake. 

Distantly, he made out the sound of the Ironman suit in the background, but there was no way, Mr. Stark wanted nothing to do with him, there was no way that the was there. He felt somebody gather him into their arms, and he almost panicked, but then his nose was filled with the familiar scent of motor oil, coffee, and expensive cologne. 

“Mis’er Stark?” Peter felt his words slur as he felt himself flying through the air. 

“In the flesh, kid.” Peter nodded, closing his eyes again.

“Hey-- hey, keep your eyes open for me, okay?” Peter nodded again, but he didn’t make a sound. 

“I’m so sorry, Pete-- I should’ve-- shoulda-- been there--” Peter cut him off with a slight shaking of his head. 

“It’s okay. I know you didn’t wanna--” Tony shushed him. 

“Save your breath, kiddo, we’re only a few minutes away.” 

Tony could’ve kissed Helen Cho when she lifted Peter out of his arms and rushed him to the medbay. Tony followed not far behind, collapsing into a chair the second he got into the waiting room. 

He felt tears fill his eyes as shame and anger bubbled to the surface. How could he have been so stupid? Nothing should have stopped him from keeping close tabs on Peter, he should’ve apologized immediately. He should have intercepted the situation the second Karen reported that Peter was being more reckless than normal. 

But he hadn’t, and why? Because he was scared the kid didn’t want to talk to him? That was stupid. He could barely focus on what had caused the original argument, and he realized that it didn’t really matter, what mattered was what happened after. 

What matter was the life of the kid-- his kid-- who was stuffed away in the medbay’s operating room, for something that he should have been protected from in the first place. 

He didn’t know how long he had sat there when Helen Cho had finally left Peter’s room. Tony had accomplished very little in that time, he texted May Parker (something about Peter helping him with some tech), drank about three cups of coffee, and filled his weekly quota for self-loathing. 

Helen looked at him for a minute, a strange look in her eye as she sat down next to him. Tony held his breath.

“He’s going to be fine.” She said first, and Tony felt himself exhale, some of the tension melting out of his body as Helen’s words sunk in.

“The knife didn’t hit anything major, though there was a lot of blood,” she flipped the page on her clipboard, “in fact, the blood loss was what we were concerned about. I think it’s what made the wound so dangerous.” 

Tony simply nodded as Cho’s face slipped into the professional mask she always used when delivering bad news. 

“But Tony-- this was such a close call. If you had been even five minutes later…” Tony couldn’t hear her as a terrifying scene flashed before him. 

Him, getting to Peter too late. Peter’s funeral. The realization that he really almost never apologized to Peter, that Peter would have  _ died _ not knowing that Tony loved him more than anything else in the whole world. 

Cho seemed to realize he wasn’t listening, and with a sigh, he stood up. 

“You can go see him. Hopefully, he’ll sleep for a few more hours, but you know how he can be.” Tony nodded numbly, thanking Cho as he headed into Peter’s room. 

He sat down in the hard chair next to the kid, and immediately the tears returned. Peter was so small, curled up on his side as he snored lightly. His chest was covered in bandages, and he had an IV stuck in his arm, if not for those two things, he would look just like he did when he fell asleep against Tony’s chest during movie night. 

He squeezed Peter’s hand. 

Time passed, but Tony wasn’t sure how much. Suddenly, he was being woken up from his state of half-sleep, he blinked towards Peter, and realized the kid was waking up. Peter glanced around the room, and Tony watched as he put together the pieces. He looked over to Tony, and almost immediately, he looked away. 

“You don’t have to stay,” Peter said finally. Tony shook his head.

“Kiddo, we gotta talk.” Peter swallowed loudly enough that Tony could hear him, but he said nothing. 

“I mean, I don’t know if there’s anything to say.” Peter gave a half-hearted shrug, and Tony went to interrupt him, but Peter kept talking.” 

“This,” he motioned between the two of them, “was too much, and I get it, really.” He looked away from Tony and wiped at this eyes, “I’m used to it, don’t worry about it.” 

Tony tried to blink away his own tears, but he failed. He grabbed Peter’s hand, forcing the kid to look at them. Their eyes met, both red-rimmed and filled with tears. Suddenly, Tony’s words were spilling out of them. 

“Listen kid I as both wrong and stupid. I snapped at you when I shouldn’t have snapped at you. I was wrong. And I should have apologized sooner.” He felt himself choke on a sob that tore its way through his throat.

“And then you almost died, and I just… I can’t lose you, Peter.” Peter used his free hand to reach up and wipe his eyes.

“So you don’t totally hate me?” Tony shook his head.

“No, and I never could.” Peter let in a shaky breath, and suddenly he was reaching over the metal rails of his bed to wrap his arms around Tony. Tony pulled him as close as he could and hugged him tight, unwilling to let go. Not now that he had his kid safe and alive in his arms. 

“Oh my god,” Peter breathed out, “I thought-- I thought you never wanted to see me again and--” Tony sighed as he rubbed Peter’s back.

“You gotta breath kid, it’s going to be okay.” Peter nodded into his shoulder. 

They laid like that for a minute, it was uncomfortable, but they both refused to move away from each other. 

Peter pulled away from Tony for a moment, to adjust his grip, and Tony was staring at his face, taking in his soft chocolate curls and warm eyes, and there was more love than Tony ever thought possible blossoming in his chest, and then he said it:

“I love you.” It was quiet, but firm, no fancy nicknames or beating around the bush. Peter looked at him and smiled, a real, genuine smile.

“I love you too.” 


	27. Day twenty seven- Ransom

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was hard because I just really wasn't feeling the abduction trope today (although they're some of my favorite fics) and I feel like I've done it already in this fic? (like twice) so I was going to write a fic where Peter's identity is the ransom, so I tried to write that but I couldn't, so I mixed the two-- essentially. 
> 
> I hope you enjoy, I can't believe we're almost done! (These last 4 days have my favorite prompts btw)
> 
> two note about this fic: Civil War never happens, so the Avengers are cool, and Ned doesn't know Peter's Spider-Man. 
> 
> Tumblr: spiclergwen

_ Kids were hurt.  _

That was Peter’s first thought as he followed the young girl through the series of alleyways she led him through. He had been just about to end his nightly patrol when the girl came running up to him. She was young, maybe nine or ten and she had long black hair cascading down her back, contrasting with the neon pink and green shirt she was wearing. 

“Spider-Man?” Her voice sounded confused and scared and it so clearly belonged to a child that Peter had stopped where he stood. The little girl ran to him, and it was clear she had been crying. Peter sunk down to his knees so that they were eye level. 

The girl threw herself into Peter’s arms, and he caught her with ease, wrapping his arms around her. He smoothed her hair down with one hand as the other rubbed her back, hoping that he was successful at calming her down. After a few moments, she pulled away, and Peter cocked his head to the side expectantly. 

“I have a little brother and a little sister, and my mom had to go to work but she couldn’t get a sitter so I was watching them and then this man came and he broke into our house and we didn’t know where the safe was so he hurt them and I don’t know what to do and…” She hiccuped and Peter pulled her into another hug. 

“Hey, it’s okay!” He tried to keep his voice bright and cheerful to help her feel better, “I’ll come over and then I can help you call the police, okay?” The little shook her head, near hysterics. 

“No!” She shouted, putting out one hand as though she could stop Peter, “please Spidey, just you? My mommy isn’t-- my daddy got deported and they’re looking for her and the police would--” she started to sob again, and Peter quickly moved to placate her. 

“Okay, I understand, we won’t call, alright? Can you take me to your house?” The girl nodded and grabbed Peter’s hand, pulling him out of the alleyway and into the crowded street. She walked down the main street for a bit, ignoring the stares as people saw a child dragging along literal Spider-Man. Then she brought him down an alley in an emptier part of Queens. She took him through a convoluted series of alleys, and while Peter thought it was strange that she avoided the main streets, he was lucky enough to remember the path they were taking. 

Left

Left

Right

Left

Right 

Right

Right 

She brought him to a run-down looking apartment building, and though it looked almost abandoned, Peter guessed people could still live there. They got to the door, and the girl turned back to him, tears in her eyes again. Peter felt a warning run up and down his back, but he ignored it. 

“It’ll be alright!” Peter reminded her, keeping his eyes trained on her as he opened the door, hoping that it would help her feel better. She began to cry. 

“I’m sorry, Spidey.” 

Suddenly somebody was grabbing him from behind, using a hand to cover his mouth. He tried to fight back, but once he had overcome his initial shock, there was already a hand pulling up his mask and inserting a long needle into his neck. 

Everything went black. 

He woke up in a dusty room. It had definitely been an apartment building at one time, but it was clearly was no longer. There was visible water damage on the ceiling and walls, and the floor was covered in weeds and dust that grew up from the ground below. The windows were all boarded up and there was a single source of light in the room-- a lone lightbulb hanging above Peter’s head. 

Peter quickly noted his surroundings, including the two doors on either side of him. There was nothing else in the room besides Peter and a tripod with a turned-off camera set up. Peter realized that the was in a chair, tied onto it with rope binding his wrists and ankles. He also could feel the mask still on his face. 

_ Weird. _

He tried to move, knowing his strength, but he found that couldn’t rip himself out of the rope. A laugh echoed from behind one of the doors as it creaked open. A man walked out in a full suit, crisp and clean. His brown hair was pushed back and he looked completely at ease. If Peter didn’t know better, he would have been convinced the man was just one of Tony’s associates. 

The man walked over to Peter, and smiled down at him, running a single finger along his shoulder and down his arms, sending a chill down Peter’s spine. 

“Your strength is gone, for now, Spidey.” The man’s thick Russian accent drawled. The memories came rushing back to Peter: the little girl, and then the apartment building, and then the needle in his neck. He glared up at the man, feeling the rims of his suit’s eyes narrow as he did so. The man laughed. 

“Are you excited for our time together?” 

“Fuck off.” 

The man’s hand was hard and fast across his face, and it took Peter back as he felt the bruise already being to blossom over his cheek. With dread sinking in the pit of his stomach, he realized that if his healing was disabled, his healing factor was too. He glanced around again, he could still feel his advanced senses, but they seemed a bit dimmer than normal. 

The man slapped him again, but there didn’t seem to be an actual reason behind it. He glared down at Peter. 

“You won’t be here for long, but I hope you’ll learn some respect while you’re here.” 

Peter had about a thousand questions he wanted answered, but he didn’t want to give the other man the satisfaction, so instead, he stayed silent. It didn’t really matter: in true supervillain fashion, the other man broke into a type of monologue. 

“My name is Boris Bullski. I worked under Ivan Vanko with one goal: destroy Tony Stark. I have yet to be successful, but I realized recently: I may not be able to beat Stark in battle, but I can definitely hit him where it hurts,” Boris dragged his finger across Peter’s neck, “if I come for the people he loves.” 

Peter wanted to scream: “He doesn’t love me! We just have a weird mentor-mentee thing going on.” But he stayed silent, keeping his glare steady.

“And that, my boy, is where you come in. I’ll offer Stark some sort of peace offering-- a ransom of sorts-- and I think we can get him to cooperate eventually.” With a cruel smirk that sent chills down Peter’s spine, the man whistled, and four other large men sauntered out of the door Boris had entered through. Unlike Boris, none of the men came empty-handed. Some had guns or knives, or baseball bats. They loomed over Peter, and suddenly he felt incredibly small. 

“But first,” Boris remarked, his calm persona washing over his features again, “We need to prove to Stark that we’re serious.” 

. . .

The first call came in at 12:14. Tony had just been ready to call Peter and yell at him. He knew the kid’s curfew on school nights was at 11:30, and when May had called him, almost hysterical because Peter hadn’t come home yet, he was ready to chew the kid out, especially when Peter didn’t answer Tony’s calls. 

Tony didn’t recognize the number the video call was coming from, but he answered it anyway. He was hoping it was Peter, hoping his phone was broken and he was calling Tony from some civilians phone. That hope extinguished the second his eyes met Boris Bullski’s. 

“Stark. Long-time no see, how’s your life been?” His voice was calm, but there was a sort of arrogance hidden behind it like he was a child who had successfully stolen from the cookie jar and now he wanted to brag about it.  
“Cut the shit, Bullski, what do you want?” Tony finally choked out through gritted teeth. Boris merely let out a _tisk_ noise. 

“Come on now, Stark. I wouldn’t do that if I were you. You should be nice to me,” Tony rolled his eyes, “after all, I have something very important for you.” 

Tony felt his eyes widen, but he quickly got his expression back under control, ignoring the way ice began to run through his veins. 

“After all, we wouldn’t Spidey to pay the price for your rude behavior, would we?” Tony felt that ice turn to flames as he looked at Boris.

“You wouldn’t dare.” There was more venom in his words than he knew he was capable of, and even Boris looked at little caught off guard. 

“Oh, I would, wouldn’t I, Petey?” He flipped the camera, and Tony almost threw up. 

Peter was tied to a chair, and even though he was still masked with the spider-suit on, he looked  _ wrecked.  _ His mask was torn in a few places, each of them leaking blood. His body was covered with blood and bruises, and there was what appeared to be a couple of stab wounds littering the kid’s torso. Something that looked like cigarette burns covered the parts of his arms that were left exposed by tears in the suit. 

Peter didn’t respond. Tony knew that was bad. Boris flipped the camera back around, and Tony wanted to strangle him as he let an easy smile grace his features. 

“Twelve million and a couple of suits, that’s all I ask.” Tony clenched his fists under the table. 

“You’ll get it over my dead body.” Bullski shrugged. 

“That’s fine,” he glanced over the camera, “I’ll have plenty of time to play with Peter while you make up your mind.”

And with that, he ended the call. 

Tony resisted the urge to bang his head against the table. Instead, he picked up his phone and contacted everybody he knew he would need.

Happy: to pick up May Parker.

Fury: to get SHIELD on the case.

Rogers: to alert the rest of the Avengers. 

Pepper: to help him calm down. 

He sighed as he made his way up towards the common room, his thoughts filled with Peter. 

. . .

They were two days into negotiations and nothing seemed to be working. Tony, The Avengers, even SHIELD had tried everything, and Bullski hadn’t budged. Tony was honestly considering paying the ransom, especially after Bullski leaked the knowledge that Spider-Man had been kidnapped. 

New York was going absolutely insane. Tony couldn’t pick up the phone, let alone leave the tower, without being bombarded by fans and reporters, all begging him for updates on Spider-Man. He could hear there shouts. 

“Will you be able to get Spider-Man back?” 

“Do you believe Spider-Man is alright?” 

“What’s going on with Spider-Man?” Tony had ignored every single one of the questions. Bullski called him every day (and his phone was near impossible to track) and while their conversations were terse and full of hatred, that acted at reminders that Peter was horribly injured, but alive.

But it wasn’t until four days in that shit really hit the fan. 

. . .

Ned Leeds followed the rest of the student body into the gym for the yearly “don’t drink” program that the school put on every year. He climbed the steps to the bleachers and sunk down next to Michelle, who gave him a knowing look. He was concerned: Peter hadn’t been to school or answered his messages in a few days, and that was super weird for him. Even when he had gotten super sick in eight grade, or gone to Europe with Tony Stark, he had still found ways to contact Ned. 

He sighed and turned his attention to the principle, who was drowning on about the dangers of drinking hard liquor when suddenly the powerpoint flickered to a whole new image. 

There was a man Ned and had never seen before, sitting in front of the camera, behind him, was red and blue of the Spider-Man suit. Spider-Man looked at least sixty percent dead. Blood and bruises and burns were covering his whole body, and Ned suspected that he had more blood outside of him than inside. His head was lulled to the side, and it was clear through his short, strangled breaths that he was struggling to breathe.

One of the admin assistants rushed to the computer to try and change the image, but it wouldn’t budge. 

“Hello, friends.” The students looked around nervously, “My name isn’t important, but as you can tell, I have your neighborhood Spider-Man over here.” He jerked his head towards the masked vigilante. 

“As of right now, this video is currently playing on every screen in New York City, and it’ll stay that way until I get what I want.” With a shrug, the man stood up. 

. . .

“Is that true, Fri?” Tony asked, eyes wide as the Avengers watched the video play out in front of them. 

Tony felt shivers run up his spine. He had denied Bullski the money and suits again, but as Peter got worse and worse, it was getting harder to do. He had flown to the last spot the suit had clearly captured time and time again, but the feed always seemed to cut out and get muddled right as a young girl ran up to Peter. 

“Unfortunately, the boss. This stream seems to be playing everywhere.” Tony, Sam, and Clint all cursed in unison. Natasha stared out the window, unmoving, and Steve seemed preoccupied with his thoughts, his eyes glued to the scene. 

It was awful. They were  _ hurting  _ him, on stream, for the whole city to see, and Tony couldn’t do anything about it. It was like everything had stopped. Traffic wasn’t moving outside, lights were out all over the city, even pedestrians stood, frozen and staring at their phones in the street. 

One of the men went to hit Peter, but stopped, during back towards the camera and fumbling away. Bullski re-entered the picture, of nefarious glint in his eye that made Tony realize that something really, really bad was happening. 

“I didn’t want to hurt the boy, Stark-- not more than I had to.” He paused as though he could hear Tony’s response.

“But you’ve left me no choice.” Bullski’s hands grasped the bottom of Peter’s mask, and Tony froze, realizing suddenly exactly what was about to happen. Bullski smirked at the camera and pulled the mask completely off. 

. . .

Midtown’s gym was silent enough you could hear a pin drop. Ned stared at the face of his  _ best  _ friend, bloody and bruised He could barely think as his mind registered that the person he had just watched get tortured for ten minutes wasn’t just the guy who fought crime or saved his sister from a mugger, it was the person who was like a brother to him. 

He swallowed stomach bile as the feed registered the look of panic in Peter’s eyes. 

Ned could almost make out the distant-sounding sobs and resounded around the gym as the realization settled in for each and every person across New York, even if they didn’t know Peter personally.

_ Spider-Man was a kid.  _

. . .

Tony didn’t realize how nice it was to finally hear Peter’s voice. In every single video, Peter was always asleep or gaged, and Tony (if the rest of the world didn’t feel like it was falling apart around him) could have cried relief upon hearing the kid’s voice again. 

“How does it feel, Spidey,” Bullski asked from behind the camera, “to have Ironman care more about money than he does about you?” Peter visibly rolled his eyes and attempted a shrug. 

“One time Captain America dropped a jet bridge on me and I gotta say, dude, that probably hurt more.” 

Bullski growled behind the camera and Peter continued. 

“But this is probably more embarrassing if that makes you feel any better.” 

The Avengers all glanced at each other, knowing Peter’s willingness to quip was probably a good thing. 

( _ Or maybe _ , Tony’s voice echoed,  _ he wants to avoid freaking people out. _ ) 

On-screen, Peter kept speaking: 

“So like, in theory, somebody could totally check my suit footage and find my last location, right?” Bullski laughed as though he had tricked Peter.

“Of course, but you no longer have a tracker, and the footage is much too jumbled for anybody to follow it.” Tony could hear the pride seeping into Bullski’s voice and he wanted to scream-- the footage was way too jumbled to be followed, they had all tried. 

Peter looked directly at the camera. 

“You think the Avengers are watching this?” He motioned towards the camera and Bullski gave an affirmative. Peter frowned as though he were deep in thought. He fixed his stare directly into the camera lens as if he were trying to sustain eye contact, Peter continued: 

“So, they could see what street I was on last?” Bullski chuckled. 

“Yes, but that wouldn’t be helpful.” 

Without warning, Petter quickly added: 

“We took the first option every time:  two left, right, left, three rights.” Bullski let out a primal scream and shut off the stream immediately, but Tony could barely focus. The pieces clicked for all the Avengers at once. Tony let the suit build around him as Friday began to set up the coordinates. 

He flew towards the apartment building Friday directed him towards. His only thought was of Peter. 

. . .

Midtown was still completely silent, students were look at each other, the varying levels of fear clear as they glanced around. Ned could barely think, his mind preoccupied with the horrifying images of Peter being beaten before his mask had been removed. 

The gym sat silent for over fifteen minutes, nobody daring to move or say anything when the stream flickered to life again. 

It was unclear who turned the stream back on, but the scene made Ned sigh with such relief that tears began to dribble down his chin. If he had pulled his eyes away from the screen, he would have noticed that most of the room was crying. 

Black Widow and Hawkeye had the five men up against the wall, tied together and unable to move while Captain America leads a handcuffed Bullski off the screen. Peter sat in the same chair, ropes around him cut away. He looked calmer. Tony Stark on out of the Ironman suit was kneeling in front of him, wiping at his eyes as he spoke to Peter in low tones. Peter smiled around the pouch of apple sauce in his mouth. 

Peter turned towards the camera and dropped the empty pouch into his lab, he mustered up another smile, but his pain and exhaustion were clear. Tony eyed the blinking red light on the camera and asked: 

“Sam? Did you turn that back on?” He asked as a voice behind confirmed it. 

“Yeah, thought people should see the kid’s okay.” Tony nodded. Peter waved at the camera. 

“Hi, New York! I’m good!” He didn’t sound near as cheerful as normal, but Ned could have cried hearing Peter’s voice in a situation that wasn’t life-threatening. Natasha’s voice echoed behind him.

“Well turn it off, we gotta go.” 

The camera went black again, and suddenly, it was like all of New York had taken a breath in unison. 


	28. Day twenty eight- Beaten

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> HYDRA au.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love HYDRA aus. I don't think I can write them all that well though, regardless I hope you enjoy it! 
> 
> This is in no way a one-shot, but I won't be finishing it this month, oops. This didn't turn out at all how I wanted, but that's okay, it's an idea I'll revisit later. In fact, I basically gave up, because this is nowhere near a finished story. 
> 
> Tumblr: spiclergwen

Peter stood, back straight, staring into his combat boots planted firmly on the ground. The other agent had not yet given him permission to look up, and so he didn’t. He was wearing simple camo pants and a black t-shirt, a usual look when he wasn’t in the arachnid suit. Finally, the agent spoke. 

“Agent C-12, look at me.” Peter’s head automatically snapped forward, and he found himself looking at the face of Dr. Ophelia Sarkissian. Her long black hair was swept back in a tight bun, and her outfit mirrored Peter’s. She eyed him carefully and she looked over the file from Peter’s latest mission.

“Another confirmed hit, thank you, agent.” Peter nodded but did not move his line of sight away from the doctor, knowing that would upset her-- and he couldn’t do that. 

Not when she and HYDRA were all he had. 

. . .

Peter had been with HYDRA for as long as he could remember. One day he had woken up, probably five or six years old, in a concrete room with Dr. Sarkissian and Agent Zemo. He had immediately burst into tears, although he couldn’t remember why. The two agents had calmed him down and had quietly explained to him that was safe, with HYDRA now. 

“You’re going to help us change the world, Peter.” Dr. Sarkissian had explained gently, as she held Peter’s hand. Agent Zemo smiled and nodded. 

“You’re going to help us make the world a better place, doesn’t that sound nice?” Peter nodded. He likes helping people, and he really wanted to help make the world better. The agents both smiled as Peter nodded. 

“Can you repeat after me, Peter?” Agent Zemo asked, “I’m going to help HYDRA make the world better.” Peter repeated him and then asked. 

“How do I help make the world better?” The two adults shared a look, as though they were angry that Peter had asked them a question.

“By doing the things we ask you too.” Dr. Sarkissian’s voice was harsher than before as she tightened her grip on Peter’s hand. 

Peter felt himself gulp loudly as the two agents brought him out of the room, they led him to a room that looked like a doctor’s office. Agent Zemo helped Peter jump up onto the table. 

“Okay, you’re going to help us right now, okay Peter?” Peter nodded. 

“All you need to do is lay down on this table and let Dr. Sarkissan work, alright?” Peter nodded again, before repeating: 

“I’m going to help HYDRA make the world better.” Agent Zemo gave Peter a tight-lipped smile and nod before leaving the room. Dr. Sarkissian locked the door as he left, before fixing Peter with the type of glare that he would never forget. 

“Better” became the first of  _ those _ words. 

. . .

It was well over twelve years later, and Peter looked over to Dr. Sarkissian. He wasn’t completely sure he had helped make the world  _ better _ at all but Peter had no room to complain, as the many agents often reminded him: after all, HYDRA had saved him from becoming nothing, they had given him powers, and home and a mission. 

That was all he really needed. 

Sometimes, after missions, when Peter had a few hours off from training and nothing to do, he found his mind wandering. He wondered about the outside world, the one that HYDRA was trying to protect him from, and the way it worked. He frequently questioned whether or not HYDRA was really doing the right thing, but he was quick to brush those feelings off-- HYDRA had saved his life, he had no reason to question their purpose.

Besides, they had always treated Peter the right way. They were harsh, but they only punished him when he did something wrong, and that wasn’t their fault-- it was Peter’s. 

He brought his attention back to Dr. Sarkissian, who was eyeing him with something akin to excitement in her eyes. It made Peter’s blood run cold (even if he’d never admit it). 

“You have another mission, agent.” Peter nodded, knowing he wasn’t allowed to speak. 

“You’re going to help us take down the Avengers.” Peter’s body froze, but he tried not to show it as he nodded his understanding. Dr. Sarkissian gave him a few more instructions, but Peter could hardly hear them over the pounding of the blood in his ears. The doctor shoved a piece of paper at him and sent him on his way to get ready, reminding him that they would leave in the morning. 

As Peter walked back to his room, he thought over the mission. It had seemed simple enough: meet the Avengers when they raided a decoy base the next day, hold them off until the backup HYDRA agents could come in. 

Peter could handle that, right? 

. . . 

“I just don’t know how we didn’t catch it before.” Steve said as he and the other Avengers stood around the map, “SHIELD thinks this base has HYDRA’s newest and biggest weapon, and we just found it?” 

“I agree it seems odd,” Natasha added, “but we know HYDRA’s been working on something big recently, they might be leading us right to it.”

“In which case,” Tony interjected, “it’s probably a trap.” 

“Who cares? We can take a few HYDRA agents!” Clint jumped in from the other side of the room. 

“I agree it looks suspicious, but if HYRA’s next big thing is there, maybe we can stop it pro-actively,” Bruce added as he poured over the plans for the next day’s raid. 

Sam and Wanda were both silent, but they nodded along with Bruce. The team broke away after that, all preparing for the next day. 

. . .

Peter was exhausted when he woke up the next morning, but that was normal. He quickly changed into his suit, it was different than the other agents’ because it was specifically designed to enhance his spider-like abilities. Once he was dressed, he joined the other agents on the jet, giving nods to his superiors as the jet-set off. 

It dropped Peter off an abandoned HYDRA base in upstate New York. It was actually the one Peter had grown up in before they had deemed the nearby Avengers compound too big of a threat, and so he was already aware of its layout. He picked a spot near the center to campout and wait for the Avengers to arrive. 

As he did so, he tried to shake off the anxiety that curled up his neck from sitting in his old home-- he didn’t have great memories of the place. Visions of the past floated past Peter’s eyes as he waited. 

The first time they had beaten him was here. He had been at HYDRA for a few months, and he had messed during his first-ever mission, the fists of his superiors had come so hard and fast Peter barely registered what was going on until he was being carted off to the medbay to heal. 

They had tested his powers here, and the memories of that made Peter shiver. He remembered long days basically chained to a metal table. They sliced open his wrists to check on his webs (they never had come naturally) and they cut him open to check the color of his blood and his accelerated healing. One time, they forced Peter to hold onto a pipe, and he dangled there until he passed out-- just because they wanted to test how strong his grip was. 

Most of the punishments Peter experienced had been here. He had been waterboarded or forced to avoid sleep or sliced open in these walls. 

All that aside, Peter didn’t really care-- after all, HYDRA was all he had, he had to believe they were doing the right thing. 

He sat for almost two hours before the Avengers arrived. He immediately jumped onto the ceiling, and he was grateful for his enhanced hearing as he listened to their conversations drift down the halls.

“God, there’s literally nothing here.” 

“There must be, SHIELD was convinced this was important.” 

“Friday’s detecting a heat signature, I think we should head that way.” 

“Do you think their newest asset is a weapon or a person?” 

“Honestly, it’s HYDRA- that’s the same thing.”

Peter froze as he heard footsteps approach. Suddenly the Avengers entered the main room. First Captain America, then Ironman, Black Widow and Hawkeye, and finally Scarlet Witch and Falcon. They stood in a type of circle, looking everywhere but up for any signs of danger. 

Peter crawled to the middle of their circled before pressing his call button and jumping into the middle. After all, he didn’t need to beat the Avengers-- just stall them. All six of them turned immediately towards the masked figure in the middle of their circle. 

For a moment, they were all still, weapons drawn in their staring match with the masked agent. Peter had studied their fighting techniques, and he figured he had a few seconds before anybody attacked him.

He was wrong. 

Black Widow lunged at him first. He managed to dodge her widow bite and she went sprawling across the floor. He dodged three of Hawkeye’s arrows, trying not to laugh at the archer’s confused face. It was almost too easy: Peter could dodge every single one of their attacks, and he didn’t have to go on the offensive: that wasn’t his goal. 

Captain America threw his shield, and Peter caught it and webbed it to the wall, shrugging at the Captain as he did so. He bit back any of his usually sarcastic quips-- the less the Avengers knew about him, the better. 

Falcon wasn’t a problem, Peter shot a web into his wings and immediately they stopped working. He could dodge the blasts from Ironman just fine, and he couldn’t help but laugh a little at the man’s confused exclamation in his comm. 

Peter had not; however, accounted for Scarlet Witch’s freaky mind powers. As he turned towards her, he was suddenly encapsulated in a warm red light that was slowed his movements. He couldn’t seem to move fast enough to dodge their attacks now. 

The Avengers landed hit after hit, now that Peter was slowed down. Black Widow did the most damage, her hand-to-hand combat skills were equal to Peter’s own, and without his usual advantage of speed and agility, he was basically screwed. 

He didn’t want to admit it, but he needed backup to get there fast. He could barely hold the Avengers as was, and he didn’t think he could hold out much longer as he noticed the sudden bloody wound on his side. (Although he couldn’t tell if it was from the knife in Black Widow’s hand or the bloody arrow laying next to Hawkeye. Maybe both). 

He heard Captain America say something, but he was too focused on dodging attacks to listen properly. There was an affirmative given in the comms, and suddenly Scarlet Witch was waving her hands, hitting Peter with something that made him stumble a few steps forward, then fall flat on his face. 

. . .

The Avengers carried the knocked out agent out of the HYDRA facility. As they loaded into the quinjet, they watched as HYDRA backup arrived, storming into the building. Tony hit the middle HYDRA emblem on the agent’s suit and watched it grow baggy around his body, hoping that would stop any trackers from showing up on HYDRA’s radar. 

The Avengers were all silent until Sam finally spoke. 

“So it was definitely a trap.” All the others nodded as Tony motioned towards the sleeping agent. 

“Do you think this is HYDRA’s next big weapon? He didn’t seem that special.” Natasha gawked at him.

“Come on, Stark-- that person took on all six of us alone, dodged every single one of our attacks, and until Wanda slowed him down, he showed pretty big signs of being able to at least evade us until backup arrived. He clearly just wanted to distract us. I think if he wanted too, he could have done some serious damage.”

Steve made a noise of agreement: “Yeah, luckily we took the guy down.” The rest of the Avengers nodded before Wanda pipped up.

“What do we do with him now?” Steve looked at the agent darkly.

“Bruce will make sure he has no major injuries, and then we’ll call Fury to help interrogate him.” The rest of the team nodded as the jet landed. After a quick glance over, Bruce was able to confirm there were no major injuries (in fact, most of them seemed to be healed anyways). Tony called Fury, and he was over by the time Steve had set the unconscious agent in the interrogation room. 

Fury and Natasha sat across from the unconscious agent, ready for when he awoke, while the others all sat behind the glass. Luckily, they didn’t have to wait long, as the agent began to stir after only ten minutes.

He came too incredibly quickly, he straightened his back as he stared at the two in front of him. They left the mask on, hoping to use it as leverage later. Fury started.

“We’ll keep this simple: you tell us what we want to know, and hopefully you’ll get a lighter sentence at the raft.” The agent merely nodded. Pete had been trained: he knew how to handle these situations, and besides-- nobody told him anything important anyway. 

“We’ll start simple,” Natasha added, upon realizing the agent wouldn’t respond, “what’s your name?” 

“Peter.” 

“What’s your last name?” Peter’s brow furrowed behind his mask. 

“My what?” Natasha and Fury shared a look but continued on. 

“How long have you been with HYDRA?” Peter shrugged.

“A long time, I never counted.” 

The questioning lasted like that for almost six hours. Peter gave vague or unhelpful answers while Natasha and Fury acted like they weren’t frustrated. Finally, Fury cracked.

“Here’s the deal: you tell us something good, or I’ll take off that mask.” Peter stalled, he didn’t care about his identity, but he knew the mask helped him curtail his facial expressions, helped him turn in Agent C-12. He shrugged.

“I’ve told you man, I don’t know anything.” Fury stood up and walked towards Peter, Natasha smirked: she always enjoyed seeing somebody’s face when she questioned them. And she had been interested in this guy since she laid eyes on him. It was rare somebody could fight as well as her. If he wasn’t with HYDRA, she would consider him an Avenger’s candidate.

Fury pulled off the mask in one swoop, and Natasha immediately wished he hadn’t. The agent’s face was unnaturally pale, and bruises around his face and neck stood out from his early fight with the Avengers. He still had dried blood sticking to his nose, lips, and forehead. 

None of that bothered Natasha, no-- she felt her breath leave her body as she looked at the agent’s face. He had brown locks that curled softly around his head, just a tad bit too long. His brown eyes looked sad like they had seen too much, but they glinted with some type of childhood wonder. His chin was completely free of stubble and his cheeks were still round with baby fat.

HYDRA’s new big weapon wasn’t the highly trained middle-aged spy any of them had expected.

No, this agent was a  _ child _ .

And that sure as hell threw a wrench in their initial plans. 


	29. Day twenty nine- Numb

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's a cold winter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't know shit about science, so if this is incorrect, I'm sorry (but also, is it even possible to be incorrect about the DNA of a literal spider-human?) 
> 
> This is #fluffy for the most part because that's the wave today, okay? Genuinely, like something whumpy happens to Peter but mostly this is just cute. 
> 
> Thank you sm for all the love on the last chapter! I would love to continue it one day!!

Peter Parker had always liked the sun. Even before the bite changed his body and his DNA, Peter had always been the type of person who enjoyed it when it was sunny out. (Aunt May and Uncle Ben said it was because Peter was like the sun-- but he never believed them). 

After the spider bite; however, Peter  **loved** the sun. He loved the way it felt as it beat down on his face, loved the way it seeped him in golden warmth all the way down to the core of his being. He loved how much closer the sun felt when he was swinging between skyscrapers. The sun was something he didn’t get enough of in New York, so he always tried to make the best of it when he could. 

And the sun was amazing, don’t get him wrong, but what Peter really, really, loved was warmth. He always wanted to be warm. When he was a kid he hadn’t minded the cold so long as the sun was out but after the bite, the cold became Peter’s number one enemy. 

Everything had just felt so much  _ colder _ than before. 

It was the first winter after Peter had gotten his powers when he really started to notice how much he hated the cold. He had been walking to the subway before school, shivering as the cold sunk down into its bones. At the time, he couldn’t tell if the chill was the product of the morning frost or the still-fresh grief that froze him in his very core. 

In fact, he had been so cold that May had been forced to pick him up early when Peter had nearly collapsed halfway through running laps outside. It had been a hard thing to come up with an excuse for, especially since Peter had no idea why he was so cold all of a sudden. 

May kept him home for two days after that, a mix between her fears about losing him and the reminder of how sick he had been early in the year had convinced her Peter needed to stay home, even if she still had to go to work.

One the first day, Peter went to the nearest public library, and he immediately did the thing he should have done right after the spider bit him: he checked out every single book on the biology of spiders that he could get his hands on.

It was interesting, and Peter definitely learned some things he would store away for future use. (Part of the composition of spiderwebs was vitamin K, which he realized might help his next batch of web fluid. He also noted the natural aversion to peppermint, lavender, and caffeine). However, what struck him most was the knowledge that spiders couldn’t thermoregulate. 

That made sense-- of course Peter was feeling colder, his body had less ability to control his internal temperature.

Which really, really sucked. 

So, Peter began to improvise as best he could: he was almost always wearing a long, cotton shirt under his sweaters and t-shirts as a way to keep the heat in. He completely stopped wearing shorts, he always kept his feet covered or a blanket thrown over his lab. It became increasingly rare to see Peter Parker without a reusable mug of hot tea in his hands. (His preference was vanilla chai, but he didn’t mind a good breakfast or green tea from time to time). 

Once he started using the Stark-suit, he almost always had the heater on if it was between the months of September and April. The lack of thermoregulation majorly sucked, for sure, but it wasn’t anything Peter couldn’t handle. And his inability to thermoregulate didn’t seem to be fatal, so Peter figured he didn’t really need to worry about it. 

And when Peter thinks he can handle something, he always makes one glaring mistake: 

He forgets to mention it to Mr. Stark.

. . . 

Peter had been Spider-Man for almost two years, and he was honestly having the time of his life web-slinging around New York. His fighting style had gotten better, his injuries were few and far between, he had a pretty cool online fanbase. (Not that Peter really cared about having fans, but every time he saw his Instagram follower count, his heart skipped a beat). 

So, it was pretty unusual for Peter to get super injured on patrols. This was a good thing, but it also meant that Peter had let his guard down a bit when it came to average street-level criminals. 

His current opponent wasn’t hard, just some guy trying to steal the fishing lures from one of the catch and release kiosks at Prospect Park Lake (which had Peter: ???). Peter was practically begging the guy to move on.

“Listen, man, I won’t even call the police if you just go now. There are probably people that really need my help and--” The man said nothing as he threw another easily dodgeable punch towards Peter. 

Peter, who, was so focused on taking the man down, that he didn’t notice that he had been back to the edge of the lake. The man finally dropped the lures in his hand and raised his hands in defeat. Peter took a sigh of relief.

“Oh thank God. I was seriously worried we’d be at this for a while, ya’ know, some people give those things away for free at--” Peter never got to finish his sentence.

The man had moved his two raised arms so quick Peter didn’t even know what was happening until he was splashing into the water below. 

He spluttered to the surface after a few moments of flailing around (swimming really wasn’t his strong suit.) He coughed the water out of his lungs, ignoring the disgusting water still sloshing around in his mouth as he basically doggy-paddle to the surface. 

Once he was able to pull himself out of the lake, the man was gone. Peter sighed as rubbed at his arms. He was absolutely soaking wet now, and as he stood up, he quickly made the decision that his patrol was over as a shiver ran through his body. 

Sighing, he turned his attention to Karen, who sounded almost apologetic. 

“Peter, while the suit itself is water-proof, the fall into the lake filled the inside of the suit with water, I’m afraid the heater is broken.” Peter sighed, annoyed as he trudged up the hill near the lake. 

“I didn’t fall into the lake, K,” Peter huffed, “I was pushed.” Karen made a soft noise of acknowledgment. Peter rubbed at his arms again-- it sure was cold. But that was okay, he could make it back to his apartment in time to warm up. 

And besides, the cold was just super uncomfortable-- it wasn’t like it was going to kill him or anything. 

“Karen, how long until I get home?”

“It will take you about forty-five minutes to an hour to swing to your home in Queens.” Peter smiled briefly at Karen’s distinction, remembering fondly the time she had referred to Stark Tower as “your home in Midtown.” Peter’s smile melted from his face immediately as he realizes how long it would take to get back. 

He swung to the top of the nearest building. He was convinced that he was getting even colder, but it was fine. He was shivering slightly, way more than he would usually be on a fifty-three-degree night, but he chalked it up to the lack of heater and the added wetness of his suit. 

Peter got another six rooftops away before he had to stop himself. He was shivering so badly that he could barely shoot his webs from one building the next without his whole entire arm vibrating. He took a moment to steady himself as he swayed on the spot. It felt like he couldn’t get enough oxygen into his lungs, no matter what he did, it felt like the air wouldn’t rise in his chest as he needed it too. 

He took a few short, shallow breaths and tried to blink away the sudden black spots in his vision.

“Come on, Peter,” he whispered as he aimed his next web, “you just gotta get home.” His next web was messier than the ones before it, but he was able to swing over to the next building. He stumbled a couple of steps forwards before he was falling to his knees. He could barely walk, his knees knocking together as though he had lost all his agility. His entire body felt numb. 

“Peter, your pulse has slowed and your body temperature is significantly lowered, would you like me to call Mr. Stark?” 

Peter shook his head and he glanced around, confused-- where was he again? 

“No K, it’s fine. I’m almost…” he trailed off as he racked his brain, where was he going? As though Karen had read his mind, a map illuminated inside of his mask, plotting out where he needed to go. 

Peter took a few more clumsy steps, but instead of shooting a web, he sank to the ground on the overside of the building. Even in his drowsy state, it was clear he was in no position to swing any further, he could barely even feel his hands, let alone point them in the right direction. 

The still conscious part of his brain told him to call Mr. Stark, maybe the man would give him a ride or something? But the other side of his brain, louder and begging Peter not to be a burden, told him that if he just closed his eyes for a couple of minutes, he would be all good to go. 

His eyelids were already dropping and Peter laid his head against his knees, hugging himself. His shivering was more violent now, to the point where Peter was practically shaking. His breathing hadn’t improved in the slightest as he took in shallow breaths through a swollen-feeling throat. 

Sleep was close, he could feel it, but suddenly his phone was ringing. It didn’t even finish one full ring before Tony Stark’s voice echoed through Peter’s mask. 

“Peter? Kid? You with me?” Peter shivered again.

“Y-yeah, mst’er Stark.” his words felt jumbled and foreign in his mouth as he mumbled them out, not even aware of the gentle slurring of his words.

“Karen says your pulse and internal body temp are low, I’m going to come to get you, okay?” 

Peter mumbled something, but forget what it was almost as soon as it left his mouth. Distantly, he heard the sounds of the Ironman suit, but he couldn’t tell him that was through his phone or not. 

“...tired…” He said finally, closing his eyes. 

“Hey, hey buddy I know-- but just hold on for a second more, okay kiddo?” Peter shook his head, unaware that Mr. Stark couldn’t see him as the sounds of the Ironman suit came closer. 

He rested his eyes and let unconsciousness overtake him, ignoring how he was still shivering, he couldn’t even hear Mr. Stark’s desperate shooting of his name. 

Groggily, he blinked his eyes open for a moment. He almost began to thrash around-- unsurer of where he was, but just as began to stretch his limbs, the voice of Tony Stark stopped him in his tracks.

“Hey-- don’t move, underoos. I’ve got you, okay? You’re safe.” It calmed Peter down for a moment. He was still unsure of his surroundings and where he was, and he was got off guard by the shallowness of his own breaths and the chills running through his body, but he knew he had to be safe.

Mr. Stark had him, and even in his dazed state, Peter knew: 

Mr. Stark wouldn’t let a single thing happen to him. He was safe.

He passed out again, eyes closing almost against his will as he distantly registered Mr. Stark’s voice.

“Fri, divert all power to thrusters, this kid needs to get to the medbay fast.” 

. . .

When Peter woke up again, the first thing he registered was  _ warm _ . 

The second thing he registered was love, bright and concerned, seeping into his chest and wrapping itself around his heart in a way that made him feel like he was floating. 

The third thing he registered was the sounds of the television blaring around him. 

“...Spaghetti when you have a small pot…” 

The words trigger a light snort from Mr. Stark, who, Peter realized, was gently running his hand through Peter’s curls. 

As he became more conscious, he glanced around the room again, taking in his surroundings. He was wrapped in no less than three blankets, another four laying on top of him. He had been changed out of his suit, and instead was wearing fluffy pajama pants and a long-sleeved shirt. He was curled up against Mr. Stark, his head resting on the older man’s chest, one of his arms thrown tightly around Peter’s shoulder as he played with his curls.

The room was dimly lit and Brooklyn 99 was playing softly in the background. Mr. Stark’s hands felt nice in Peter’s hair, and Peter found him pressing himself even further into the older man’s side. 

Tony turned towards Peter, as though he had just realized he was awake. He paused for a moment, as though he was considering removing his hand from Peter’s hair, but he continued. Tony twisted his neck to look down at Peter, a slight smile gracing his face, the kind that only came up when you were so happy you couldn’t hide it.

His eyes looked at Peter, and Peter almost cowered away, feeling incredibly seen, as the man looked at him with a look that seemed angry, and frustrated, but also so full of love that it made Peter freeze up. 

Peter tensed a little as Tony stared at him, waiting for the man to launch into one of his “you could have died” lectures. He expected the man to unwrap himself from Peter and give him a strict talking-to, maybe even yell at bit. Tony did none of those things, in fact, Tony did the last thing Peter ever would have expected him to do. 

He leaned down and kissed Peter’s forehead. 

Peter looked up at him as he pulled away, a blush rising to his cheeks as he snuggled into Tony further.

“What happened?” Peter asked after a few moments of peaceful silence.

“You fell in a lack and got hypothermia, and then, when I called you--  _ you proceeded to pass out. _ ” Despite the overall calmness in his tone, Peter could hear the sharp edge of Tony’s final words. 

“Oh. Sorry.” Tony rolled his eyes fondly. 

“Don’t let it happen again, I barely understand how you got hypothermia in the first place.” 

Now it was Peter’s turn to shrug, “oh well it’s probably because spiders cannot thermoregulate or anything, so I get cold easier.” Tony turned to look at him.

“And you never thought to mention that?” His voice almost lost its calm edge, but he quickly brought it back. 

“Nah, I could handle it and I didn’t want to bother you.” Tony sighed and pushed Peter’s hair off of his face.

“Kid, you can’t bother me.” Peter let a smile grace his lips as he and Tony fell back into the gentle silence, as they both turned their attention to the TV, too tired to think too much about what had just happened. 

“Are you going to lecture me again?” Peter asked, a few episodes later, as the warmth began to fill his body more completely, and the numbness started to slink away from his bones. Tony chuckled.

“Oh, definitely. Tomorrow, probably.” Peter let out a little whine.

“You’re not going to get it over with?” 

Tony nestled the kid further under his arm. 

“Nope. For now, this is fine.” The statement hung between them as Peter allowed warmth to envelop him. Maybe the hypothermia was making him a bit emotional because he smiled as whispered: 

“This is more than fine.” 


	30. Day thirty- Recovery

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> SUPER IMPORTANT CHAPTER NOTES

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello all! Can you believe this journey is almost over? I can't. Thank you all so much for the love and support this month, it's been a huge inspiration. There's good news and bad news, I'll give the good news first: 
> 
> Good news: I've worked out my foreseeable writing future. Starting next week, I'm going to post one of my favorite one-shots re-edited so that they can be improved and reach a wider audience, that will happen every single Tuesday until December 31st. I also have two that I'm going to completely rewrite and post, but I'm not sure when. 
> 
> The big news is this: I'm working on my HYDRA au right now, and I hope that the first (of 10-20) chapters will be out around the second week of November, it will be updated on Fridays, so keep an eye out for that! 
> 
> Bad news: I'm so excited about that, that it became harder to write this, so this piece is sort of ramble-y, really, also I feel like there's exactly 0 plot and I hate it so that's cool. 
> 
> Also, there are two types of recovery in this fic, physical and emotional, so that's something I guess.

It was incredibly rare that Peter was allowed on any sort of Avengers mission. Tony (despite offering the boy a position on the team just a few years prior) was hellbent on keeping Peter as safe as he possibly could, and that meant keeping Peter away from any mission that could be deemed “dangerous.” 

And all of the Avengers missions could be deemed dangerous.

This was a huge point of contention on the team, after the so-called “Civil-War” all of the Avengers had been on the lookout for new recruits, and it didn’t take very long for somebody to bring up Spider-Man.

“What about that Spider-Man guy from the airport?” Sam asked as the team lounged around the common room. Tony’s back immediately straightened as he stared at Sam, all the serenity that had been present immediately dissipated from the room.

“No. Absolutely not.” The other Avengers eyed Tony curiously, all in varying states of confusion, it was Natasha who finally spoke up.

“Why not? He fights pretty well and he’s got the heart.” Tony thought over his answer for a few moments, obviously, the newly-pardoned Avengers were going to meet Peter one day, the boy was at the compound multiple times a week, and realistically, they would probably fight with Spider-Man eventually. But on the other hand, he really, really didn’t need a lecture from Capsicle.

He also knew; however, that the Rogues wouldn’t leave him alone until they had a straight answer. He bit the bullet.

“I would uh…” he sighed deeply, rubbing his fingers against his temples, “I would like Spider-Man to at least finish high school before he considers any of this fulltime superhero business.” 

The room exploded almost immediately. 

Natasha was looking at him with a look that was akin to betrayal, Clint and Sam were looking like they couldn’t believe what was happening, Vision looked unphased while Wanda seemed deep in thought. Cap was looking at Tony like he was literally terrified. 

Steve was the first one to recover.

“You let me drop a bridge on somebody who hasn’t finished high school?” Tony scoffed.

“As if you would have listened to me. If you recall, we weren’t supposed to actually fight.” Natasha continued. 

“But you knowingly brought a minor into what you knew could have become an incredibly dangerous environment?” 

“I KNOW!” He immediately tried to lower his voice again, “I know, okay? I wasn’t thinking straight and the kid was there and I didn’t think it would escalate.” The room quieted down after that, all of the Avengers in various states of concern about the new knowledge. It was Clint who finally asked.

“Can we still meet him, though? One day?” Tony sighed, trying to think of the most diplomatic way to tell his teammates: “I would rather throw myself out of a window than ever let any of you meet Peter before it’s necessary.” 

What he said instead was: 

“Yeah, I’m sure you will one day.”

Needless to say, that day came much too soon for Tony’s liking. The Avengers had dragged him into the lounge for a call with Nick Fury, claiming that if they had to suffer through it, Tony did too. 

He hadn’t made too much of a fuss, but that was only because the call was only supposed to take twenty minutes, which gave him plenty of time to get back down to the lab before Peter arrived for his internship. 

It did not work like that. In fact, the call took almost two hours. By the time it had ended, Tony was ready to go bang his head against the wall repeatedly. He sighed and leaned back, not bothering to check his watch. 

The Avengers dissolved into small talk about the call, and Tony figured he had finally had time to slip out, but Steve called out to him before he could slink away. 

“Tony! You can stay for a few minutes, right?” Knowing that he wasn’t actually being asked, Tony sat back down, joining the conversation. 

He had just been watching Sam and Clint argue over who could fit more peeps in their mouth when Friday announced to the room: 

“Boss, seeing as you are not in the lab, I am sending Peter up to the common room.” The conversation stilled and all eyes turned to Tony. His mind was racing as he tried to come up with an excuse.

“Fri, it’s okay--” he was cut off by the sound of the elevator doors opening. Peter bounced out of the elevator and into the landing. His eyes landed on each of the Avengers individually before coming to rest on Tony. 

Tony couldn’t help but smile as he watched the kid, something about Peter always made his heart feel like it was swelling with joy (not that he would ever tell Peter that). Tony had always assumed that Peter would freak out the first time he met the Avengers, but instead, Peter immediately dropped the bubbly smile on his face, replacing it with a look that could be described as disdainful. 

He walked over to Tony and sat next to him, ignoring the Avengers who were still staring at him in awe and confusion. Peter was basically sat between Tony and his teammates, as though protecting the older man from them. 

Tony knew when to take his leave. He stood up, pulling Peter up with him, as he began to walk away.

“Let’s head down to the lab, yeah?” He spoke to Peter only and the boy simply nodded, following Tony towards the elevator. Tony was just about to press the button when Clint’s voice echoed behind him.

“Holy shit, Tony-- you have a kid?” Both Tony and Peter whipped around to face him, identical looks of shock gracing their features.

“What?” Peter said at the same time as Tony declared: “no.” Clint only looked more confused, so Tony continued.

“This is Peter,” he gestured to the kid, who gave a brief wave of his hand, “he’s my intern.” Clint nodded, clearly still confused but willing to let it go. It was Natasha who refused to drop it. 

“You’ve never taken an intern before.” Tony shrugged as Natasha looked between the two of them, and Tony could tell that she was putting the two and two together.

“Things change.” Tony snapped, before turning around. Natasha continued as though he hadn’t said anything. 

“Stark Industries rarely takes interns, and they’re usually grad students.” Natasha’s eyes widened slightly as she pointed to Tony, her voice as calm as ever.

“You’d only take an intern if you had a reason too… if maybe… they were Spider-Man?” Peter paled but kept his face surprisingly under control as Natasha made her claim. 

The other Avengers looked between Peter, Tony, and Natasha, as though they had each grown a second head. Natasha was still glancing at Peter with an eyebrow raised, the kind of look she only gave when she wanted answers.

Tony racked his brain for an excuse, for anything to convince his teammates that Peter was just an intern, but even he could admit that it looked suspicious. He didn’t have to think of anything, though, as Peter jumped in, somehow meeting Natasha’s glare.

“Does it matter?” Peter cocked his head to the side and Tony almost had to stop himself from letting his jaw drop to the floor. He had never, ever seen anybody respond to Natasha with the same cool indifference Peter just had. The Avengers all looked to be in similar states of shock.

“Kid’s ballsy,” Clint whispered to Sam, who shook his head as he glanced between the two with the same rapt attention as one would while watching a tennis match.

Natasha stepped forward, Peter didn’t move.

“I deserve to know who Tony brings around.” She scrunched up her nose ever so slightly, keeping her tone low. Peter shrugged again.

“Do you?” He asked, the implication in his words clear. He turned back around and walked into the still open elevator, not glancing back at the rest of the Avengers.

So yeah, needless to say, Tony had plenty of reasons to keep Peter from going on Avengers’ missions. They were dangerous and Peter was much too loyal for his own good. 

Expect, the Avengers really need his help this time. Peter and the team had interacted a few times since that fateful day in the common room, but it was always as short as it could be. Around the others, Peter’s chatterbox demeanor all but vanished. 

If there wasn’t a literal alien invasion, Tony would have benched Peter in a heartbeat, but with Thor or The Hulk, he knew the kid was going to be an important asset. He quickly looped Peter into the Avengers’ comm and debriefed him. 

“Sounds good, Mr. Stark!” Peter chirped as he swung off towards one of the skyscrapers on the edge of the invasion. 

With all of them there, the fight was easy enough. At least, until Karen flashed a message inside his mask. 

“Spider-Man’s suit as been compromised. Would you like to see his current vitals?” Tony was about to rush off towards wherever Peter was, regardless of his vitals, but an alien came flying at him before he could, and as he looked around at the craziness around him, he quickly realized that he would be unable to fly to Peter’s aid. 

He hated to admit this, but after a few more minutes of fighting, he had completely forgotten about Karen’s cryptic warning. It wasn’t until the battle had been won that he remembered, and that was only because of Natasha. 

“Stark?” She had switched to their private comm channel, which was never a good sign, “I’m at the intersection of 42nd Hanover street, I need you to come collect the kid, he needs medical attention.” Tony felt this blood run cold as he immediately set off in the direction of Natasha and Peter, suddenly remembering Karen’s warning. 

He dropped into the alleyway and was suddenly confronted with what might be the weirdest picturer he had ever seen. 

Natasha Romanoff had Peter  _ cradled _ in her arms. Tony stared in shock as Natasha rubbed Peter’s arm. He thought about making some shitty comment about Natasha’s motherly instincts, but it died in his throat as his eyes landed on Peter. 

The kid was covered in more blood than Tony thought was possible. In fact, he sort of suspected that there was more blood on Peter’s suit than there was currently inside of his body. His mask was off, thrown to the side, and his face was white as snow. 

Even from where Tony was, he could tell the kid’s breathing was incredibly shallow. He all but sprinted to Natasha, lifting Pete from her arms.

“Thanks for letting me know.” He said finally, as he stared at Peter’s bloody face. Natasha merely shrugged.

“What can I say, I like the kid.” Tony must’ve looked at her surprised before she added.

“He doesn’t seem scared of me, I appreciate that.” Peter let out a painfully sounding groan, and Tony could see blood in the back of his mouth as he did so. 

“Now get him to Cho, we’ll clean up.” Tony nodded his thanks and immediately took off, Peter clenched in his arms, not moving. 

It was odd the see the kid so still, especially when Peter was always so full of life and energy. His eyes were half-lidded and despite the fact that Tony was convinced there wasn’t much more blood left in the kid, there was still more pouring out of him. 

He arrived at the medbay in a cacophony of colors and sounds. Nurses were shouting and suddenly Peter was being lifted out of his arms and carried to onto a gurney. Peter was out of sight before Tony even knew what was happening.

The rest of the Avengers arrived not soon after, and Rhodey dragged Tony to the mission debrief, promising him that he could leave the second he was able to see Peter. The avengers gathered around the conference table, Nick Fury’s hologram joining them shortly after.

The actual debriefing was incredibly boring, and Tony often found his mind wandering to Peter, stuck in the medbay. He wanted to know how the kid was doing so, so, bad. Steve’s voice immediately shot Tony out of his thoughts. 

“There was a power source or something… taken from one of the aliens. It was hidden behind a dumpster in the alleyway between 42nd and Hanover, anybody know why?” Tony glanced over to Natasha, who spoke.

“Peter had grabbed it from one the aliens, I think-- I saw him throw it behind the dumpster right before he went down.” Nick Fury nodded.

“How many of those power sources did you find?” 

“Just the one, sir.” He nodded again, before turning his attention to Tony.

“Get that tested. The kid obviously thought it was of some importance of he thought he needed to hide it. He might be on to something.” Tony nodded, ignoring the smile the was rising to his lips.

Of course, Peter would find an alien power source and immediately think about hiding it by chucking it behind a dumpster. Tony could have laughed despite the tense situation. Only Peter. 

The debrief continued, and by the time it let out, Tony was all but colliding with Cho as he skidded into the medbay. She stared at him with her trademark: “really, Stark?” look before ushering him into the waiting room. She sighed as she grabbed her clipboard. 

“There was about a four-inch deep wound to his chest.” Tony hissed thinking about it, Cho nodded sympathetically. 

“He’ll make a full recovery in time, but for right now, he needs rest and fluids. The wound wasn’t near-fatal for somebody like Peter…” she trailed off and looked away, “but if it had been a normal person, it would’ve killed them.” 

The words hung heavy between them, Tony almost felt as though he could have chocked on air. Cho continued.

“He’s not awake and hopefully he won’t be for a while, but you’re more than welcome to sit with him.” Tony nodded his thanks and headed into Peter’s room. 

He looked so small, with so many wires wrapped around him and machines beeping every which way. He settled into the chair by Peter’s bed and grabbed his hand, careful to avoid the numerous IVs in him. Peter still had an oxygen mask that covered the majority of his face, but it was nice to watch the kid breath. 

There was a quiet knock on the door, and Tony turned to see Steve sticking his head in. 

“Is he good?” Steve asked gently, and Tony and to remind himself not to scoff and roll his eyes,  _ Steve is extending an olive branch, be nice _ his mind warned.

“He’ll be okay. He just needs time.” Steve nodded, before asking a question that caught Tony off guard.

“What’s his favorite type of candy?” Tony thought for a minute before he answered. 

“He really loves Skittles for some reason.” Steve nodded and left, leaving Tony alone with Peter once again.

It became a thing after that. One of the Avengers would pop in to check on them, and then ask Tony some obscure question about Peter’s interests.

Natasha asked about movies. (Star Wars) 

Clint asked about foods. (Anything sweet-- cupcakes especially) 

Wanda asked about animals. (Penguins) 

Sam asked about colors. (Red and blue, obviously). 

Eventually, Rhodey came and all put pulled Tony out of the room, arguing that Tony needed a shower and a nap, and there was no way Peter was going to wake up before he did both of those things. Tony reluctantly agreed, placing a soft kiss on Peter’s forehead as he did so. 

. . .

Peter woke up almost six hours later. He blinked slowly as he tried to recognize his surroundings. Once he noticed the IVs in his arm and the beeping around him, the memories of before came back to him-- the fight, the alien core, the stab wound. The Black Widow holding him. (He was pretty sure that last one was fake). 

He adjusted slightly, ready to go back to sleep when a burst of color caught his eye. He turned, and his mouth fell open when he saw the piles of presents sitting by his bed. He grabbed the card out of the middle and tore it open, smiling at the cute graphics. 

The inside was short, but it made Peter’s heart flutter a little. Each of the recently pardoned Avengers had written notes, ranging from “get well soon” to “don’t bleed on me next time.” Once he finished reading the card, he glanced back at the table as his smile widen, hurting his face. 

There were no less than eleven boxes of skittles, two new lego Starwars sets, a whole box of red and blue cupcakes, and a giant stuffed penguin that was probably only a few inches shorter than Peter. Peter smiled wider. 

Maybe The Avengers weren’t so bad. 


	31. Day thirty one- Embrace

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> TW: Suicide attempt

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello all! I'm so sorry that this wasn't finished in time, but alas, shit happens. ("shit" being that I went to a really cool drag show and also My Chemical Romance came back? it's been wild) Anyways, This has been an amazing experience, and I am so thankful that so many people wanted to read it. All your comments (especially all the people who commented regularly) meant the absolute world to me and I am so thankful for each and every one of you. 
> 
> I'll be back on Tuesday, in order to start my weekly reposts. Then, hopefully on the 15th of November, I'll start my HYDRA AU! I hope some of y'all will join me on that fic as well. 
> 
> Once again, thank you so much and heed the trigger warning above. 
> 
> All my love,   
Spiclergwen

It was a quiet night when Peter climbed to the top of the building-- the first one he had ever climbed, the one he had learned to swing off of. It felt fitting, letting the first building he sat on top of also be his last.

_ His last. _

The words sent a jolt of both fear and excitement through Peter’s heart as he pulled himself onto the top of the roof. For a moment, he just stood there. He knew what he needed to do, but that didn’t make him any less terrified to do it. 

Peter didn’t want to die, not really. But everything was too much-- the world around him was too loud, too bright, it infiltrated his nose and mouth and he always felt like he was biting back the urge to gag with the intensity of it all. 

Once he became Spider-Man, it all just got louder. Suddenly, he didn’t just have to worry about himself and his aunt, he became considered with all of New York. 

It was too much. 

It had always been too much. 

He walked across the rooftop and jumped down onto the ledge, allowing himself to sit there for a moment, legs swinging over the edge of the building. He looked down but bit back his question for a minute longer. 

Peter didn’t want to die, but he also knew that death was the only thing that was going to stop whatever was happening inside his head. Dying meant no longer being constantly bombarded with all the sounds and smells and sights of the world. It meant no longer being a burden on his Aunt May, who had graciously taken him in, even after Ben died. He wouldn’t have to worry about school or Flash, or worrying Mr. Stark anymore. 

Briefly, distantly, he wondered how people would take the news. He wondered if May would cry, what about Ned and MJ? Or even Mr. Stark? Would they be upset? Relieved? It was the type of unknown that made Peter uncomfortable. While one part of his brain was yelling at him, screaming that he was loved, and would be missed tremendously, the louder part only amplified his fears. 

The same voice that was encouraging him to  _ jump _ , was the same one he heard constantly, while he was laying in bed, or on parol, or walking in between classes. 

You’re a burden.

Nobody likes you.

You would be better off dead. 

Peter felt a sob tear out of his throat, and he clenched the fabric of the Spider-Man suit in his hands as he bowed his head in sobs. 

Once he began crying, it was like he couldn’t stop-- suddenly, it was like everything since the spider bite descended down on him at once-- He was choking on his own sobs as they tore threw his raw throat. Tears were spilling out of his baggy, red-rimmed eyes like a leaky faucet turned on high pressure. He laid his head against his knees, effectively folding himself in half, legs still dangling off the buildings. 

His chest was heaving. He was so wrapped up in the sudden wave of emotions that it was impossible to think about life or death, all he could feel was the tightness in his own chest as he struggled to breath. 

It took him a few moments to realize that Karen had been speaking to him. 

“Peter? Your heart rate is elevated and you appear to be in extreme distress. Should I call Mr. Stark?” Peter took a deep breath, hoping to respond with a somewhat steady voice. 

“N-no, K.” He descended into another round of sobbing, feeling his eyes swell as he did so. He thought about his life. Peter Parker wasn’t all that remarkable, really. Spider-Man, though? He was. 

Peter hopped somebody would protect Queens in his absence. Although he honestly wondered if the city would notice his absence at all. He sat back up and wrapped his arms around himself in an attempt to comfort himself in some way. He closed his eyes behind the mask and took a deep breath, finally gathering the courage to ask the question he needed to. 

“Karen?” He winced upon hearing his own voice, raw unsure sounding. 

“Yes, Peter?” If AIs could sound concerned, Peter was pretty sure that Karen did.

“If I…” He trailed off, “If I jumped off this building and uh… didn’t catch myself, would I die?” 

It was silent for a moment.

“From my calculations, a fall from his height would most likely be fatal. However, that is not a concern, Peter-- your parachute is still in the suit.” Peter let out a watery laugh. 

“Yeah, I know. Thanks, K-- for everything I mean, I know you don’t have any concept of death but uh… just know that we might not talk again.” 

“Peter, please, let me call--” Before Karen could finish her sentence, Peter ripped the mask off of his face. He had considered not wearing the suit at all, but he wanted Karen there when he jumped. That way, it didn’t feel like he was doing it alone. 

Peter looked up towards the sky, taking in the few stars he could see through all the air pollution and clouds. 

They were beautiful.

He stood up and brought himself to the edge, his toes almost hanging off the building completely. For a moment, he just took in his surroundings, trying to commit them to memory, even though he knew there was no reason to. He loved hearing the laughter and chatter echoing through the city. It was nice to see the lights one last time. He took another deep breath and closed his eyes.

There was a familiar sound of repulsors in the air, but he didn’t think about it. 

Peter didn’t really believe in a god or the afterlife, but he let out a silent prayer to whatever may be listening-- to let his fall be gentle, quick, hopefully painless. 

“Peter!” A voice yelled behind him. 

It was Mr. Stark, but he didn’t sound normal, his voice had lost all its usual snarky confidence, and it was instead replaced with something that sounded  _ raw _ and  _ desperate _ and absolutely  _ terrified _ . Peter didn’t respond.

. . .

By Tony Stark’s standards, it had been a completely calm night, almost too calm. He hadn’t gotten a single call from Fury, or Ross, or any of the newly pardoned Avengers. It had been so calm; in fact, that he and Pepper had even been able to go out for the night, getting dinner alone, and somehow, nobody needed them in those two hours. 

It had been so calm, that upon getting off the elevator to head towards his lab, he had jokingly told Pepper, “This has been too good to be true, so I guess the world has to end now, or something.” 

They had both laughed, but it had turned into a disgusting prophecy, because of that night, Tony’s world really did almost end. 

He had been tinkering freely in his lab, no real rhyme or reason to his work, something he hadn’t been able to do in years. He had his old workshop playlist blaring in the background, and it was really nice to be able to decompress from the last few weeks (years, really). Tony had felt invincible-- like nothing could go wrong. 

“Boss?” Friday’s voice sounded tentative, almost a mechanical sounding fear. She didn’t wait for Tony to acknowledge her. 

“Peter’s heart rate appears to be elevated, and he seems to be in extreme distress.” Tony dropped the screwdriver he was holding and immediately turned off the music in the background, staring intently at nothing.

“What’s he doing?” He asked, Peter hadn’t been seriously hurt on patrol in a while, and Tony was already beginning to worry. 

“According to Karen, he’s been sitting on the roof of a building for the last three hours.” Tony froze, eyebrows furrowing. 

“Is he injured?” He began to call a suit from his watch. 

“He does not appear to be physically injured, but Boss…” Friday’s voice was as soft as possible, as though she was trying to comfort Tony, “Karen said he asked her a couple of minutes ago if falling from his current location could kill him.” Tony’s blood ran cold, but he tried to starve those thoughts off, after all-- Peter was curious person, maybe he had just wanted to know? 

“He also commented that he and Karen may not speak again.” Tony felt bile rise up from his throat as he stepped into the suit, barely registering the rest of Friday’s words.

“Give me his coordinates--” 

“Already in your suit, Boss.” Tony nodded, his throat feeling suddenly tight. He set off as quickly as he could towards Peter, praying to nobody that the kid would be okay. 

Okay, maybe he didn’t need to find the kid “okay” but he just wanted to make sure he wasn’t currently flattened into a pancake in some alleyway in Queens. 

He landed off the rooftop with a clang, and he pushed himself out of the suit, rushing towards Peter, who barely acknowledged him. He felt his heart crack down the middle. 

Peter was completely still, standing on the ledge of the building, almost dangling his toes off of it. The mask laid discarded next to him and his face was turned towards the sky, eyes red and puffy, still leaking tears. 

“Peter!” 

When he didn’t respond, Tony tried again, hating the clear desperation in his voice. 

“Peter, please look at me bud.” 

The kid turned towards him, and Tony wanted nothing more than to rap him in a bubble and never let anybody touch him. Once he had his attention, he posed the most important question.

“Can you step back from that ledge for me, Pete?” A painstaking beat of silence. Peter did not step back, but he didn’t step forward either.

Tony counted it as a win.

He walked closer to Peter until he was standing just a few feet from him, he repeated his request, but this time, Peter hesitated before staying put.

“Mr. Stark,” Peter finally choked out, “please go.” Tony shook his head even though Peter couldn’t see him. He kept his voice soft as he inched closer.

“No can do, kiddo, not until I know you’re safe.” Peter wrapped his arms tighter around himself and shook his head violently, as though he was having an intense debate with an invisible opponent. 

“Please, Mr. Stark,” Peter was practically begging, his eyes still turned up towards the sky, “I don’t what you to be here when I-- When I…” He trailed off finally, looking down and wiping at his eyes. Tony walked forward until he was only a few inches from the ledge. Carefully, he wrapped one arm around Peter but kept his distance as much as possible.

If Peter was startled by the movement, he didn’t show it. Tony took a deep breath, and finally asked the question he didn’t want to be answered. 

“Peter, are you considering jumping off this ledge right now?” Peter swallowed as the wind picked up around them. He nodded, short and painful, and Tony tried to blink back the tears he felt spring to his own eyes.

“Okay, we can deal with that.” He said finally, tightening his grip around Peter. 

“How?” He didn’t sound accusatory or angry, just lost, and scared, and broken in a way Tony had never heard him before. 

“Okay, first, can you take just a few steps back? Just one.” Peter nodded and stepped back about a foot. Tony felt a little bit better. 

“Good. Good job.” He was fighting to stay calm. The adrenaline pumping through his veins made it impossible for him to truly comprehend the situation, a few days later, the realization that Peter had almost  _ died _ , had almost _ jumped off of a building _ and _ ended his own life  _ would sink it, but that moment wasn’t now. 

Right now, Tony had to focus on the immediate. 

“Do… do you want to die?” Tears were falling from Peter’s eyes again, and Tony quickly realized that the same was true for him, as he used his free hand to wipe the stray tears away. Peter bit his bottom lip and looked around, as though he was seeing New York for the first time.

“No,” He sobbed finally, “No, I don’t want to die I just-- I just…” He was shaking violently now, the words tearing from his throat as though they had a mind of their own. 

“That’s really good, Pete. That’s really good.” He tried to employ the same voice he used when congratulation Peter on a good grade or a new invention, but the thickness of his voice and the tears running down his cheeks made it impossible.

“We can work with that, we can go back to the tower and work whatever it is out.” Peter shook his head.

“Can… can we stay here?” Tony almost sighed but stopped himself. Realistically, he knew the kid was strong enough to pull away from his embrace completely, but he was staying still, which had to mean something. Tony didn’t want to push him. 

“Sure. If that would help.” Peter nodded and then took a few unbalanced steps, almost falling as he did so. Tony caught him in a type of embrace in order to hold him steady. Carefully, he helped Peter step back until they were almost in the middle of the roof. 

Peer collapsed into his chest, sobs choking him as he soaked Tony’s shirt. Gently, Tony sat down, still holding Peter in his arms. He pulled the kid closer until Peter was practically sitting his lap. His fingers rubbed gentle patterns into Peter’s back as he did so. 

For what felt like an eternity, they were silent until Peter’s sobs transformed into hiccups. It was Peter who spoke first.

“It’s all too much.” He said finally. Tony nodded, resting his cheek on the top of Peter’s curly, sweat-soaked hair.

“And everything is too loud and too bright, and too violent and I can’t make it stop and--” he trailed off again, snuggling closer to Tony.

“I know, kiddo.” He said finally, “I know it’s too much.” Peter hiccuped again. 

“I though-- I think that if I’m no-t-- not  _ here _ anymore, it can’t be too much ever again.” Tony pressed a gentle kiss onto the crown of Peter’s head. 

“We can fix this, okay-- I know it’s hard and scary and overwhelming but we can help-- me and your aunt and all your nerdy little friends.” Peter let out a slight water laugh. Tony gripped Peter’s chin gently and lifted him up to meet his eyes.

“Let me help, Peter. I care about you more than anything else in the world, let me help.” He hated how the pleading seeped into his voice, but his words seemed to register something in the kid, who met his eyes again.  
“I don’t want to burden you anymore.” What was left of Tony’s heart shattered into a million pieces.

“You’ve never burdened me, promise.” Peter nodded before pulling himself back into Tony’s chest.

“I’m sorry I worried you.” He said finally, “I’m just so-- so scared?” Tony nodded again and began to rock Peter gently, back and forth. 

“I know, bambino. I know.” The nickname slipped out of nowhere, but Peter didn’t react to it. 

“Do you wanna go back to the tower? You can sleep and then we can deal with everything in the morning.” Peter nodded, standing up shakily. Tony loaded himself back in the suit before hoisting Peter into his arms bridal style. Peter laid his head against the cool metal of the suit and shut his eyes, falling asleep a few minutes into their flight.

When they reached the tower, Tony went straight for the entrance on his penthouse. Peter began to stir in his arms, reaching a state of almost- consciousness, quietly mumbling. 

“Don’t leave?” He sounded less like a superhero and more like a small child who just had a nightmare. Tony carefully placed Peter on the couch and stepped out of the suit, sending it back to his lab. Grabbing the heaviest blankets from the linen closet, he returned to the couch, laying down and pulling Peter against him. 

He carded his hands through Peter’s hair again and whispered.

“I’ll never leave you, kid, we’ll work this out.” 

And for now, his promise would have to be enough. 

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you enjoyed this,Please let me know how you feel, I always want to know! 
> 
> Come yell with me on tumblr @spiclergwen


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